I’ve never understood why some men are too proud to ask for directions.
The way I see it, if you’re lost and someone at a nearby gas station just might know where you are, why not save yourself a half an hour of endless driving and — well — just ask for help?
There’s no shame in admitting that you’ve never been where you are and you have absolutely no idea how to get where you need to go.
There I was. Standing in the middle of the supermarket, completely unsure of whether to turn left once more… or to take a right yet again. And the last thing I wanted to do was to ask for help.
See, I don’t do the grocery shopping on a regular basis. In fact, other than my taking quick trips to the store for eggs, milk, or flour, the hubby does the routine shopping, since he gets out of work earlier than I do.
But tonight, since he was out mowing the lawn after having played frisbe golf with some guys this afternoon, I knew he would be tired… and so I took off to the store, grocery list in hand.
It was kind of exciting and fun actually. I felt like such an accomplished home-maker. A real woman, out to conquer the world of coupons, produce, and dairy.
And then I got lost.
I had crossed off everything on my list except for tonight’s dinner. Hotdogs.
Not exactly my proudest moment as a meal planner, but it’s year end at work. I’m tired. And the hubby had mentioned the other day that he hadn’t had one for a very long time.
So I thought, “Why not do something super easy for supper?” You know, to kind of say ‘goodbye’ to summer. (See how I reasoned myself into thinking that hotdogs were the smart choice)?
But the problem was that I had no idea where hotdogs were kept at my local supermarket. I knew where they used to be kept… But that didn’t help a whole lot, since frozen fish were apparently moved to that section.
And, well, do you know how humbling it is for a woman to ask for directions at a supermarket… when she’s trying to find hotdogs??
You might as wear a sign on your back that says “I have no idea how to cook real food… nor do I know what real food is.”
I contemplated pulling out my cell phone and calling the hubby for help. Or maybe waiting in the bread aisle and stalking people who picked out hotdog buns. But I instead found a little old lady in the produce section, and — as we discussed the size of the fresh green peppers — I not only learned where the hotdogs were, but I also found out that it’s okay to cheat sometimes with dinner.
She sheepishly pointed at the refrigerated pot pie in her cart.
“It’s the cook’s night off,” she said with a smile and a laugh.
And I think I felt a whole lot better. Because when her husband walked up to put a bag of peanuts into their cart, I realized that he looked pretty happy. Healthy. Even in love. So apparently, cheating at dinner now and again, won’t kill my husband… or our marriage.
(Although I have to admit that tomorrow night, I’m making a vegetarian soup to make up for tonight’s quick fix!). 😉