The romance is back in our marriage.
We’ve maintained a stiff upper lip so our friends and family wouldn’t know that we’ve been struggling on a weekly basis in our home. But now our smiles will be heartfelt and we are free to show our dedication to each other in whatever aisle we travel.
I know exactly how long it has been that we’ve struggled with our relationship. It all started March 21, 2020 — a year and four months ago. It happened with a bang and maintained that level of unhappiness until July 11, 2021 when the masks came off and the healing began.
It might seem strange to some people but in over 50-plus years, going grocery shopping has been a couple’s activity for us. We started that in 1969 as a way for Housemate to ensure we didn’t spend more than our $20 weekly budget. Then it became a weekly event to be anticipated, almost a contest to see which of us contributed the most to the ever-rising budget amount.
While maneuvering up and down the aisles that were crowded with impulse buying merchandise, we’d converse with friends and with people we had never met before. This grocery shopping was a social event and there was no end to the information we gleaned, whether fact or fantasy.
Occasionally busy schedules dictated solo visits to the grocery store but there was no fun in that, other than the opportunity to bring home items that weren’t on the grocery list but were deemed essential.
Therefore it was a threat to our couple’s health when pandemic rules and grocery store signage dictated that only one person per family would be welcome to do the shopping, with mask on and hands sanitized. We complied with the rules for our health and the health of others but our hearts were heavy at the separation.
Housemate became the shopper of choice at the beginning of the lockdown while my chore was to compile a list, writing it on the basis of where items were placed on the shelves, thus saving Housemate from making unnecessary trips in search of the Kraft Dinner or box of tapioca.
Upon his return, it was also my self-appointed job to unpack the bags and to mentally click off the items on the list that often had mysteriously disappeared.
Some items were missing but were replaced by items bought because “they were on sale.”
And so it continued, this solo excursion rule. The closest we got to rebellion was on the days when I drove Housemate to the store and waited for him to return with bags and bags of products. While he was shopping I watched other shoppers going in and coming out, hastily putting on masks in the parking lot and with much more energy, ripping them off as they approached their vehicles.
Finally, the restriction was lifted and once again we could go together, up and down the fruit aisle, picking out the best pears and oranges, finding just the correct size of a cabbage or the reddest tomatoes. I turned down a whole watermelon in favour of melon already sliced so flesh was revealed. Housemate looked disappointed but didn’t argue.
At the end of one aisle he latched onto a box of frozen juice bars, smiling boyishly that he needed them. I didn’t argue because I had already put something into the cart that wasn’t on the list. We made a morning of this combined shopping excursion and even earned bonus Air Miles because I had remembered to clip out the coupon.
Back at home one of the reusable bags appeared to be leaking something juicy and sticky. Yes, those frozen juice bars were just juice once again. I chastised Housemate for buying something early in the excursion that would melt that quickly.
His offer to help clean up the mess involved him sitting at the table, spooning up the thawed fruit from one of the plastic wrappings. Of course that didn’t work well and the mess simply multiplied.
But despite that blip in the relationship, we were so happy to have picked the best apples, the perfect tin of Spam, pears without bruises, perfect bananas and buns that would complement our homemade burgers.
Such bliss, despite the sticky juice and the length of the cash register bill, the bill that exceeded today’s budget. But there can never be a price put on the true value of a relationship nurtured among the fruits and vegetables.
Maybe next time it will be my turn to push the cart!
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
