Once every half year I’m nice enough to join my wife for grocery shopping… Well, maybe it’s not that I’m “nice enough,” but it’s that she nags enough to the point where I can’t stand it anymore and I begrudgingly get in the car to go with her. But what happened during this episode of ‘Shopping with the pregnant wife’ is why I never want to go grocery shopping again.
But first, let’s talk about ‘sex.’ You know, that thing that you used to do with your wife before the 5th anniversary.
I always had this idea growing up that pregnant women were really horny; more so than non-pregnant women. My wife having detested my appearance for a few years now, I thought, “maybe now that she’s pregnant she will bear the sight of my bare body.”
Turns out, pregnancy has nothing to do with being horny. It depends on the person. Actually the only person that you can guarantee is getting hornier is the husband because he barely gets any action. And there are times in which a pregnant woman does get horny, but if you don’t have sex within a few minutes of her claiming she’s horny, then she will get tired and give up. So you better pause the video game if she tells you she’s in the mood.
This is all science, by the way. I swear I’m not a pervert… Okay, maybe a little bit, but not like a pervert you need to be scared of… Okay, maybe you need to be scared a little bit. But not like a scary pervert that you can’t invite to your party or wedding. After all, I bring really tasty snacks and good wine or beer. Whichever you prefer. Or, maybe you prefer some hard cider? Are you gluten-free? I got your back!
Please invite me to your party…?
So back to grocery shopping. While my wife was in the bathroom aisle, I walked over to grab some meat: chicken, steak; you know, the type of food that you want to mockingly wiggle in front of an uppity vegetarian.
When I got back to my wife, I chose not to investigate the products she added to the cart, but you know for damn sure that she investigated every item that I brought over. Obviously, she made me go back and return half the meat.
We finish gathering the groceries and go to the register line. My wife went outside and called a Mediterranean restaurant to place an order, while I stayed in line to pay the groceries. Now, I know what you’re thinking: You’re about to buy groceries, Rel. Why is your wife calling in a food order? Because fuck you, we were lazy. We didn’t want to cook what we just bought. On this day, all we wanted was delivery. Mind your own business, jerk.
So I’m in line and finally it’s my turn to load the groceries onto the mini-escalator thing. And I start unloading the groceries onto the mini escalator by the handful, totally ignorant of what I’m putting on there. Sure, I can see there’s boxes, bathroom supplies, meat, fruit; but it’s not like I’m aware of the exact products.
I’m done unloading and waiting for the clerk to ring every item up on the register when suddenly… one of the item fails to register. The clerk types the item number in the computer, and still nothing comes up.
“Do you know how much this item was?” the store clerk asked. She raises the item in front of my face so I can get a good look at it.
My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. It was lube. That’s right. A big, ol’ bottle of lube, right in my face. I didn’t even know my wife added it to the cart! The first thought that crossed my mind is, what the hell is my wife trying to cook…? Lube, it’s what’s for dinner. And then it hit me, it’s for sex; that thing we don’t do anymore!
And of the 50 products this clerk just rang up, how is it possible that the LUBE didn’t? It’s the one item you absolutely NEED to swiftly ring up and to be tossed into a plastic bag. Getting lube has to be like a Mission Impossible scene: Nothing to see here. Grab and go. Run and hide. Nobody spotted us.
“I have no idea how much that is,” I told the clerk. “Can we call it $5?”
“Wish it were that easy,” the clerk said, as she reaches for the microphone.
I’m thinking, Dear god, no! Not the microphone! This is like that Jim Carrey scene in ‘Me, Myself, and Irene.’
“Price check, register 8. Price check, register 8.” the clerk said, as I swallow back my embarrassment and try to avoid eye contact with everyone. Within seconds another clerk comes over.
“Can you go find out how much this is?” The first clerk hands off the lube to her coworker. And when the coworker came back, take a wild guess how much it was… $6.99!
You can’t make this stuff up…! Okay, maybe I just lied about the price, but the rest of the story was 92% true.
But let’s slow down for a second… Why the hell did my wife get lube in the first place? Do we even have sex? I’m not sure what was on her mind, but based on the fact that solar eclipses come more often than myself these days, I can guarantee this bottle of lube will last at least 10 years.
I am officially retired from grocery shopping.