I totally look forward to Thanksgiving every year. It’s a day of guilt-free indulgence and one where we celebrate how fortunate we are, a needed appreciation especially when so many have to make do with so much less.
My wife and daughter were preparing our meal this year, which is great, as I didn’t have to do anything but hang out and maybe watch TV. I think in part they were distracting themselves from the excitement that they would full-on join in the Black Friday shopping frenzy. This is completely OK by me as long as I’m not involved in any shopping.
If I can avoid any store between now and January 2013, I’m a happy camper. Little did I know that Thanksgiving would be my busiest shopping day of the year. My wife is meticulous about preparing Thanksgiving dinner and did all her grocery shopping at the beginning of the week in order to avoid those last-minute jaunts on what might be grocery stores’ busiest day of the year.
I had just dug in to watch the Patriots vs. Jets game when a familiar voice called out to me. In her sweetest possible tone, my wife asked if I could run to the grocery store for her. She was making a green bean casserole and needed some milk. There’s a Foodland literally right around the corner from my house, so I cheerily complied. Of course, the store was packed. No sooner did I return and sit down when my wife flashed me her big beautiful eyes and said that she needed some cooking oil. This time, I asked her to make sure she had the ingredients for everything. She promised that she did. I braved the return trip to the store, each time taking at least a half hour for a single item because it was so crowded.
I didn’t count on the fact that my daughter was making dessert and was the cause for me making three more additional trips to Foodland. On each of my first four trips, I went to the same cashier, Shari, even though I pretty much know all of them, like my regulars Keala and Jamie. On my fifth and exasperated trip, I noticed that in all five trips Shari barely spoke a word to me.
I asked her why she was so quiet. She replied, “You’re going to write about this, aren’t you?”
I hate being so predictable.