Rob thinks it’s positively adorable when I go to the grocery store by myself. This is a task usually reserved for us as a united front.
So with every plastic bag I hoist onto the counter, stretched handles entwined in my absurd rings, he clasps his hands together and elates, bordering on hysteria, “Oh, my little girl, she went to the grocery all by herself! And she got provisions, all by herself!” Let this not reflect poorly on Rob, rather, blame my regression out of adulthood since marrying probably the best and most accommodating man on this earth—I won’t even sugarcoat it.
I roll my eyes and say, “I am 29 years old, you know.” And he says, considerably calmer now, “I know, it’s just cute. You went, and you navigated around, and you got all these things you need. I like to picture it in my head.”
Well, there you go.
I think he’d be pretty proud of what I hunted and gathered for myself this evening while he’s away: a beautiful bottle of Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier! I’m not the flavor expert around here, so I’ll just say: Mmm. Do try.