Shopping battles

My boyfriend, sees shopping as a military operation. He is the Sergeant Major but he has only one recruit – me. He does a sweep search of the presses to see what needs buying. He calls out in a voice worthy of a drill sergeant what provisions he feels we need; there is just the right snap and projection to his voice as he lists kidneys beans and tinned tomatoes, onions and chicken. When we get to the car he asks me have I remembered the shopping bags – I never remember and he never remembers to remind me. The car trip is just long enough for a quick debriefing on what is needed for the week.


There is the battle with the trolley. I always trip along inside out of the cold and let him fight it out one-on-one. I’m far too sensitive for such scenes of violence. But when after some minutes my dashing prince doesn’t reappear, I decide it is time to go back out on my own rescue mission. I see him pulling and tugging the red handle of the trolley, in an out, trying to force it free. He shakes it so hard the whole shelter quakes. I step in and disentangle the two warriors, dislodge the trolley, and off we go.

Hands on the reigns, my boyfriend starts his route. There is no element of surprise in his attack – he starts at one end of the shop and works his way up and down every aisle. Rather a pain if all you want to get is a tube of toothpaste or a carton of milk. We mark time together, up and down the aisles. It is always the fruit and veg aisle first, down to the bottom, then right turn and up through the canned goods and soups, on, up into the next aisle, the toiletries, left turn, back down through the pet section, down towards the Indian, Mexican, Chinese food.

Despite the military precision in the planning, not so I’m afraid in the execution. There is no plan of what we will cook during the week; there is just a plucking of what we fancy from the shelves: Pizza bases, but no cheese to put on them; Mango chutney, but no curry or popadums. There is the usual new years, healthier diet conversation, so when I suggest a bunch of bananas as a handy breakfast fruit, he tells me that they aren’t low GI – that is news to me, as is the fact that Rice Krispies, on the other hand, fall perfectly within the guideline of a Low GI diet.

When we talk about first moving in together, my boyfriend often cites our first shopping trip as being particularly romantic. What I remember is that he disagreed to the purchase of a roll of tinfoil. I suggested it, for covering foods, it's something I'd always have in the house; he said we didn’t need it. I felt that shopping together, we were keeping his list – it was his life as it was before but with small accommodations. All of that has changed, but it still remains the best roll of tinfoil I never bought. It has been quoted in every shopping trip since as a rationale for any purchase. That super-duper baking tin – do I need it? Do you remember the tinfoil? Triple strength conditioner with special shine boosters and a special price tag – do you remember the tinfoil?

Finally, we’re at the till. Our basket is heaving. We’ll go home, throw our hands up in despair, and wonder what the hell we’re going to eat. He will sort everything into perfect order in the presses – tins on the top shelf, pasta and rice on the second, herbs and spices on the third. The job is done. At last, we can be at ease.

Dismissed.