One of the fun things about having Catherine home for five weeks before spring semester begins at Hofstra is the chance to spend time with her as I go about my usual activities.
On Saturday, I coerced her into doing the grocery shopping with me.
It wasn’t exactly quality time.
My list was long (not counting the things she kept adding to the cart when I wasn’t looking) and ShopRite was elbow to elbow. I wouldn’t normally bother shopping on a Saturday, but, well, it’s just how things worked out.
We managed for a few aisles with Catherine pushing the cart and me darting to and fro, reaching between slack-jawed folks so mesmerized by the choices and price tags that they could only stand and stare.
By the time we reached the cereal aisle, however, I had to park her at the end, amid the crowds rushing the meat counter and elbowing their way to other corners of the store.
“Cover me; I’m going in,” I asked her, only half-kidding as I ducked past the applesauce and granola bars.
By the time I returned, holding a box of Cheerios aloft like some hard-won trophy, she was begging to switch things up.
“Can you please push the cart?” she asked. “I don’t know how to play shopping cart chicken.”