Urban Tidepool

I like to leave the shopping list on the front of the fridge. It’s part of that homey feeling that comes with sharing your nest with someone you love. I also find it quite convenient, until the time comes that one of two things happen. One—I find myself at the store and the list is still stuck to the fridge, or two—one of us finds ourselves at the store, unable to read the other person’s writing. Then there’s the third combination of possible events: I find myself at the store and the list is at home, and when I call home to have it read to me, my spouse can’t read my writing on the list.  Now, you just KNOW how that conversation goes…

“The shopping list is on the fridge. Can you read it to me?”

“Sure. Got a pen? Here’s what you wanted. Eggs. Roasted red peppers. Olive oil. Lulumate.”

“What?”

“Lulumate.”

“What the hell is lulumate?”

“I don’t know. You wrote it down. Apparently, we’re out of it and you wanted some more.”

Big sigh. That required a special trip back to the store just for kalamata olives. Then, a few weeks later, my spouse hands me a sheet of paper in the car and says, “Read that back to me so I can add to it.”

Wanting very much to be helpful, I began to read to her what was listed on the paper.  “Milk, bread, Diet Coke and cabbage puppies.”

There was silence.

Trying not laugh, I asked innocently, “In what aisle do they stock the cabbage puppies?”

“Oh, give me that! It says peppers! Cabbage and peppers!”

This whole shopping list arena is an unending source of comedic material at our house. Over time, I have shopped not only for lulumate and cabbage puppies (go ahead and try to find those babies!), but for half a dog house, cat livers and cream of Sharon soup. From this angle, it doesn’t matter whom you live with or whom you love. Shopping lists are the great playing-field-leveler for everyone.