It is well known that I am a champion of Saars. In a town filled with grocery stores I still manage to find my way there fairly regularly, even though well before I get there I cross paths with two other markets, one of which is a discount grocery, too. But see, I found out the hard way that you shouldn't spread you market affections around. One day I was shorted twenty bucks at the till and it was never corrected by the manager. I never went back and have once again resumed my love affair with Saars.
It's not the kind of store you want to go to if you want sexy lighting or voluptous vegetables. You certainly don't go there if you are looking for all sorts of top flight goods or products. But the prices are resonable, their health food section is hard to beat, their vegetable prices the best in town and their meat deals respectable. Since I tend to shop the perimeter of markets anyway I found that that place takes care of me. They always have exceptional wine deals, their checkers are pleasant and when I go there I generally find everything on my list.
That list thing is what brings me to this post today. I took you there once, or rather, we met there once after work on a Sunday. You had work, actually, but I needed to go shopping and we decided to meet there. You had a list of things to get and decided to take the plunge. I know now that to shop there was a bit of stretch, but you stretched alot of things back then, all in the name of research.
So you met me there in the parking lot. Everytime I pull up I see you there, late in the afternoon, September sun late in the sky. We walked in, you with list in hand, me with my heart in my throat, but we grabbed a couple baskets and away we went. We walked through, doing more talking than shopping, stopping to price break frozen shrimp, to check on the fitness of bananas, to see about ice cream and deli items. We strolled through, commenting on this, analyzing that, but in the end your list was filled and we left. Good time all the way around.
It was later that you told me that the list was largely missed, that you saw what you needed but got caught up in the words, instead. You were there in body and but your soul was soaring. Never had you had the experience or pleasure of having a man along on a shopping trip, one so caught up in the pleasure of grocery shopping. It was always you, you and the girls, but never once did your man go along for the ride. I suppose now, in his newly created being he doing it, or maybe that stopped a while back, too, knowing that once again he had managed to hammer down the deal. But at the time it was something fresh and new. What an experience it was for you, not so much seeking out the deals but having someone there to talk to, and not just about the perfection of bananas and the ify-ness of mangos.
Everytime I go there I see you, see you milling about the fruit, sniffing this, squeezing that. I go there to shop because I like it, but like so many other things in this little town of mine, I go there to visit days long past, to see the image of you amongst the produce aisles, to witness once again the thrill of a woman pleased, pleased with a life imagined.
Your WHMB
It's not the kind of store you want to go to if you want sexy lighting or voluptous vegetables. You certainly don't go there if you are looking for all sorts of top flight goods or products. But the prices are resonable, their health food section is hard to beat, their vegetable prices the best in town and their meat deals respectable. Since I tend to shop the perimeter of markets anyway I found that that place takes care of me. They always have exceptional wine deals, their checkers are pleasant and when I go there I generally find everything on my list.
That list thing is what brings me to this post today. I took you there once, or rather, we met there once after work on a Sunday. You had work, actually, but I needed to go shopping and we decided to meet there. You had a list of things to get and decided to take the plunge. I know now that to shop there was a bit of stretch, but you stretched alot of things back then, all in the name of research.
So you met me there in the parking lot. Everytime I pull up I see you there, late in the afternoon, September sun late in the sky. We walked in, you with list in hand, me with my heart in my throat, but we grabbed a couple baskets and away we went. We walked through, doing more talking than shopping, stopping to price break frozen shrimp, to check on the fitness of bananas, to see about ice cream and deli items. We strolled through, commenting on this, analyzing that, but in the end your list was filled and we left. Good time all the way around.
It was later that you told me that the list was largely missed, that you saw what you needed but got caught up in the words, instead. You were there in body and but your soul was soaring. Never had you had the experience or pleasure of having a man along on a shopping trip, one so caught up in the pleasure of grocery shopping. It was always you, you and the girls, but never once did your man go along for the ride. I suppose now, in his newly created being he doing it, or maybe that stopped a while back, too, knowing that once again he had managed to hammer down the deal. But at the time it was something fresh and new. What an experience it was for you, not so much seeking out the deals but having someone there to talk to, and not just about the perfection of bananas and the ify-ness of mangos.
Everytime I go there I see you, see you milling about the fruit, sniffing this, squeezing that. I go there to shop because I like it, but like so many other things in this little town of mine, I go there to visit days long past, to see the image of you amongst the produce aisles, to witness once again the thrill of a woman pleased, pleased with a life imagined.
Your WHMB
No comments:
Post a Comment