This week is anniversary week for the Boy and I. Today – 1 year since we officially moved in together. While we rented our apartment for September 1st, we didn’t actually spend the night until the 20th. In honour of this anniversary I’ll tell you a little story about the Boy (everyone’s favourite topic) and how even after 365 days of practice – we’re still working out some kinks in living together.
The Boy is now assistant coaching for the Men’s Volleyball team at Durham College. He’s really happy to be doing it, but he’s also still finishing up his baseball season (playoffs or something) so he’s been out almost every night of the week. I’m okay with it – it leaves me with a sports free television and my knitting (bliss).
Last week I came home from work and the Boy tells me we’re all out of bread. I thank him for the tip and tell him to pick some up on his way home – he has the car after all. Boy is not terribly excited about this plan and leaves shortly afterward for volleyball.
10:00 – the phone rings, it’s the Boy – we exchange pleasantries.
Boy – Did you make anything for dinner?
Me – Obviously yes.
Boy – What did you make?
Me – (thinking why does it matter it’s better than McDonald’s which is why you’re asking me) Fish with salsa, rice and broccoli.
Boy – Did you make enough for me?
Me – Obviously yes.
Boy – And for lunch tomorrow?
Me – This is not my first time.
Boy – Okay. I’ll be home shortly.
Me – Are you stopping to pick up bread?
Boy – Oh. I don’t really want to.
Me – Too bad. It’ll take 5 seconds just pick some up. Metro is open 24 hours.
Boy – Okay. Bye.
Time passes. I decide I’m going to go read in bed I had a headache and my lungs hurt (someone thought it would be a good idea to melt the kettle earlier that day leading to much smoke inhalation).
10:20 – I hear the Boy come in. He has a grocery bag. He comes in and asks why I’m in bed – I tell him. He says something about not feeling that way if I hadn’t set the kitchen on fire (such a drama queen).
I hear the bag rustling. I hear a container of cookies being opened. Silence. I hear a bag of chips being opened. Chewing.
I laugh to myself at the Boy’s inability to go into a grocery store on his own without coming out with a bunch of crap.
I go to sleep.
Next morning – I go to the kitchen to make breakfast. I stop in my tracks. He picked up “bread” I guess… Dempsters. There is over-processed, third ingredient is Sucrose/Fructose, twenty ingredients I can’t pronounce, never goes moldy, Dempters bread. I’ll give him some credit – at least he got whole wheat. But Dempters? We haven’t had Dempters in our house in the ENTIRE year we’ve been living together. We don’t buy processed bread. We buy bread from the bakery with as many seeds and grains in it as possible. That is our compromise – between the German dark rye bread that the Boy doesn’t like at all and Wonder White.
Brutal. Here’s the best part in my opinion – the cookies he bought, are from the bakery section. Probably sitting right across from the bread we buy! Sure no preservatives in your COOKIES! Make up for them in your BREAD!
Then it hits me. I start to wonder. Does he do these things on purpose? Do you think boys go into the grocery store grumpy that they’ve been sent there, and think “how can I make sure she never sends me in here again?” Sure I can see boys being that manipulative. But my Boy? No. Surely not. He clearly just temporarily lost his mind.
I go to work.
I come home and ask him what is with the bread. His response? “That’s the bread I like – if you don’t like it, don’t send me in to get bread.”
Happy Anniversary Boy. I thought we were making progress. FYI I will be picking up more bread tonight and making breadcrumbs out of your sugar bread.
Picture from here