Last evening, my husband did a little food shopping. And I use the word “little” very lightly.
For when he food shops, he FOOD SHOPS.
He can’t come home with just the requested 2 oranges, 4 packages of StarKist Albacore white tuna in water, 4-pack Blueberry Dannon DanActive, 2 Ready-Pac European Style Lettuce, 6 “think grape” Nutrient Enhanced Waters, and 6 Nutz Over Chocolate Luna bars (a girl’s gotta live!).
I still have the list.
He comes home with all of the above (he is very good about following the list), but also laden with these necessities: 2 Margherita Pepperoni slabs (in case someone comes over to watch a football game), mega-bags of chips and mega-jars of salsa (same reason as above), 3 family-packs of chicken wings (yes, the “game”), blocks of every variety of cheddar cheese and boxes of Wheat Thins (yes), and every condiment known to mankind.
Now, my husband knows that I absolutely hate to unpack groceries and put them away. After all, I did that for years and years when the kids were growing up. And now our needs are so much simpler.
But before I could rip into a “come-on-Honey-you-know-I-hate-this-sh*t, he pulled out a peace offering.
A .58 lb. (@ $9.99/lb.) hand-packed container of Pitted Medium Green Olives with Garlic and Lemon.
That’s $5.79 worth of magic. To me, at least.
I forgot all about the bags of superfluous groceries and wrapped him in a giant hug.
To which he responded, “What would I have gotten if the olives were super-colossal rather than medium?”
Ah, the mind of a man.
And it got me thinking…
My husband is a definite medium-sized guy.
But do small men choose small olives? Like the small, fruity Beldi or the Italian Gaeta, where size is made up in flavor.
Do medium men naturally go for the Manzanilla? You know, the familiar green olive, often stuffed with pimentos to give it a little kick.
Do large or extra-large men jump right to the giant-sized Cerignola? Meaty. And impressive.
I won’t even touch the choices of the jumbo, colossal and super-colossal men. The fantasy stops here. (OK, there is such a thing as the Spanish Colossal Vodka-Kicked Jalapeno Tipsy Olive. ‘Nuff said.)
OK. Back to reality.
I guess the moral of my story is this:
Men. Forget the flowers. The jewels. The fancy cars.
Just stash the pantry and the refrigerator with Olives.
Just like you.