So remember how the Ogre and I went to hang out with Jen and Joe for a few hours on Friday? It was totally awesome and I only stepped on her toe once, but this post isn’t about that. Here’s the picture I promised, though:
This post is about how the Ogre and I have a new tactic for squeezing in date time: grocery shopping dates.
Yeah, I know it sounds weird and lame, but it’s totally not. I mean, walking through the aisles of a grocery store without having to repeat “no, no, no, no, put that back, no, no, put that back, keep your shoes on, no, no, stop doing cartwheels, no, put that back, no, no, NO!” is unparalleled bliss in and of itself. Like getting into a car without having to buckle kids into car seats, it’s a luxury I never appreciated until it was gone. But walking through a grocery store while holding hands with my lover is something altogether different. It’s intimacy amidst the mundane, a bit of the extraordinary in something so ordinary.
Granted, sometimes the Ogre isn’t quite as enthralled as I am with the prospect of ascertaining the best produce – even if I give him bedroom eyes over the apples. Sometimes he even wanders off to grind coffee when I get carried away and start explaining the textural difference between gold vs. russet potatoes in a sultry voice. But sometimes he humors me and pretends to care about the way potato starches break down in the cooking process, and he always pretends that my sultry voice is actually sultry instead of just comically low-pitched and slightly gravelly. And sometimes he does something unexpectedly sweet, like picking up a bottle of Nero d’Avola and reminding me how much we loved that wine when we lived in Vegas.
And sometimes I grab him in the parking lot and we make out like teenagers, pressed up against the side of our car — without even noticing how badly it needs to be washed.
Because hey, when you’ve got a million minions, you gotta light that spark wherever you can. Thus endeth today’s quick-and-dirty marriage tip.
Now go make out with your husband in the grocery store parking lot.
(You’re welcome, husbands.)