There are just some things men and women shouldn’t do together for various reasons.
1. Work out together.
2. Buy expensive apparel or electronics.
3. Go to the doctor.
4. Interview any kind of maintenance person.
5. Go grocery shopping.
I have my very strange quirks. I lose my friggin mind trying to pack for a trip with a significant other. Everything, excluding necessary toiletries, absolutely positively must be packed the night before the trip. I have spent many a nights screaming at past significant others and even once threw a plastic cup through a sliding glass door. (I warned “The Man” about this and I must admit the packing for our recent trip to Washington for my niece’s birthday went by without so much of a hiccup due to the actual packing logistics) But the one thing that will always drive me insane is grocery shopping with a significant other.
Tonight “The Man” and I went on our first actual grocery shopping trip. Sure we’ve run to and from the store (since there is a grocery store literally 50 feet from his apartment) hundreds of times but until tonight we had never done full on grocery shopping Amanda style before. I have lists. I like to go aisle by aisle looking at new stuff and getting dinner ideas I hadn’t thought of before. I enjoy taking my time and getting the free samples. I actually ENJOY grocery shopping.
First, I should point out the complete differences in our food tastes.
I have, on numerous occasions, thought I had given myself water poisoning with the vast quantities of water I drink every single day. Since writing this post I’ve consumed 3 4 pint glasses of water. I love water.
“The Man” ’s typical fluid intake includes either Sunkist Orange Soda (Fanta Orange Soda gives him headaches)/Dr. Pepper/Mountain Dew/Pepsi, orange juice if I can get it in him, Gatorade if he’s feeling dehydrated, or beer (though he really isn’t that much of a drinker). The one time I thought he was going to drink sparkling water he poured grenadine in it.
My favorite food is a tie between broccoli or hummus.
“The Man” ’s favorite food is fried chicken.
I try to cook from scratch, organic, and local whenever possibly.
“The Man” is perfectly contented with McDonald’s.
I had to actually look up the correct spelling of McDonald’s (For some weird reason I thought it was Mac. Don’t ask me why. The 2/3 times I’ve had it in the last 5 years were with “The Man”).
“The Man” would probably be disgusted with this.
I feel like Paula Dean and I are long lost soul mates with our belief that “Everything is Better with Butter!”. Seriously, let me loose in Cowgirl Creamery and see what happens!
“The Man” is lactose intolerant.
I cook dinner for us almost every single night.
“The Man” has the number of the burrito place across the street on speed dial.
If you can’t tell already the trip turned out to be something of a disaster. During the Muni ride over there his ankle got injured by the bus door. He was not too pleased to be hobbling around a packed Trader Joe’s as I bombarded him with “Did you like the [insert name of something I made]?” and received the standard answer of “Not really. It tasted funny”. Considering I’m not that horrible of a cook his stock answer kinda stings. I know a large portion of it has to do with the fact he’s a picky eater but it still bruises my ego quite often.
I finally hit my grocery store breaking point after:
“Did you like those sausages I made with the garlic lentils” (Sidenote: I hate Rachel Ray but her garlic lentils were the shit.)
“Not really. They tasted funny.”
“Do you want to go grab a frozen pizza for dinner? I don’t really feel like cooking so we’ll just eat that and a big salad.”
“Nah. I don’t like frozen pizza.”
Frustrated, tired, and head-achy I grabbed the necessities I needed and hightailed it out of there with a sigh because most men I know, outside of my friend Quinn, would be perfectly happy with takeout, fried meat, or frozen food with little to no contact with vegetables which is why men don’t know how to grocery shop. Sometimes I get so frustrated with the food thing that I’m convinced there is absolutely no middle ground. I see my future self fat (”The Man” has the world’s fastest metabolism) and greasy. I picture our wedding photos looking more like the number 10 than the happiest day of our lives. Then I realize that there is a middle ground. Everything about relationships is about compromise. Which is why tonight’s dinner was ground turkey sloppy joes with spinach, cranberry, walnut, & goat cheese salad with a basic vinaigrette dressing.
Sometimes I have to remind myself not to sweat the small stuff. Food is food and one day we’ll find the perfect balance. Now you’ll have to excuse me as I go get all mushy and cuddle up to Mr. Picky Eater. He’s so cute when he’s sleeping and can’t fight back.
