The separation of jobs makes a marriage work.
The other day, my wife and I went to Hannaford to pick up a few things for a gathering we were having the next day. I didn't have a clue as to what we were there to buy because it was my wife's job to know what we needed for the party. I was simply there to lend a helping hand, load the groceries into the truck, take them out of the truck and, finally, place them on the kitchen floor.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jim Fabiano is a retired teacher and writer living in York.
Every now and then my wife would ask me to find something she couldn't find. On this day, I was asked to go to the deli counter to get some mozzarella balls. I took the job happily; even I couldn't mess up getting mozzarella balls.
After the young lady behind the counter gave me the mozzarella balls, I took them to my wife. She immediately scolded me because I had purchased the wrong size.
We continued our shopping until she discovered she hadn't picked up the two bunches of scallions she needed. She sent me on my second mission.
I arrived at the vegetable section and it was at that moment I realized I had no idea what a scallion was. I immediately sought out a store employee. He gave me an odd look and handed me two bunches of green onions.
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Proudly, I went back to my wife, now deeply involved with what types of pasta to buy for the pasta salad. She asked me to get her a can of thinly sliced black olives. I hesitated, then agreed.
Not having a clue where to find something I never knew existed, I sought out another store employee. He told me they were across from the wine, about halfway down the aisle. This made sense; olives have featured in every martini I have ever been involved with. A thought came to me: Maybe Hannaford should be serving martinis instead of coffee.
I found the olive section and was shocked to discover that there were many different types of sliced black olives. I knew then I was doomed. Whatever I chose would be wrong. I took one of each.
Back at the shopping cart, I showed the olives to my wife and asked which ones she wanted. My wife looked at the multiple cans I was holding and told me I didn't have the ones she wanted.
How was that possible? I had grabbed every black olive created since the early days of the Greek Empire. My wife led me back to where the olives were displayed, reached into a shelf and pulled out a can of thinly sliced black olives in water.
In any marriage there are certain responsibilities each partner accepts to make the relationship work. Groceries are obviously way out of my depth. I wonder where they stock the gin.
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