Thanksgiving is associated with a variety of traditions in our home. The bread- and pie-baking. The cranberry-orange relish getting ground up in the food processor at the crack of dawn. The cooking SOS phone calls from friends. My least favorite Thanksgiving tradition? The last-minute mad dash to the grocery store to pick up some essential item we’d forgotten.
I have claustrophobia. My idea of Hell is having to go to a grocery store the night before a major holiday, fighting my way through crowded aisles to get the necessary ingredients, then standing on an endless checkout line. I had this happen one year when we lived in Dallas. We lived in a dry neighborhood and I worked in a wet one, so I had to pick up a bottle of wine and a few other things after work.
This year’s pandemic adds a whole new layer of torture to this ordeal. Some virus-deniers picketed one of our favorite grocery stores earlier in the week because it required customers to wear a mask. All of the stores hereabouts require masks, so I don’t know why they chose this market in particular. Maybe the protesters like the fish department better than others.
We had a few things we were about to run out of, so I went to the grocery store this morning. I went to a larger store in the hope that I could stay out of others’ way. Fortunately, there wasn’t a large number of shoppers to impede my progress. However, one man was wearing his mask below his nose. I avoided being within ten feet of him. Surprisingly, I found everything I was looking for. I didn’t have to wait on line to check out. A triumph!
Despite this successful shopping trip, I’ll let Julian run to the grocery store tomorrow if we discover another ingredient is missing at the last minute.I don’t want to press my luck.
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