Who Says the Perfect Date Doesn’t Exist? Bezos Says.

US Wealth Napolitano |

By: Tom Schulte, CFP®

I do not believe I am being too overly dramatic in saying that over-sleeping feels worse than many actual illnesses. Drowsy, lethargic, dull and worst of all, guilty for cultivating such laziness- the only one hating me more than myself was my lovely girlfriend, Khrista (a modest weekend Honey-Do list was not Honey-Done). 

 In an effort to save face and get my life together before the start of a long and demanding work week, Khrista and I decided to cook a grand dinner. I was in charge of the main course (of which I planned to Sous-vide) and Khrista would handle the vegetables and dessert. Per usual, the fridge was relatively barren, mandating a trip to the local

grocery store.

Hand-in-hand Khrista and I walked through the picturesque brick streets of Boston’s South End, soaking-up Sunday’s sunlight on our way Whole Foods. The fresh air was rejuvenating and spirits were rising as we approached the Ink Block area. However, while walking up Harrison Ave, it did seem strange that the right lane of traffic was stopped for nearly 300 yards prior to the turn into the Ink Block parking lot. A bad omen? Sure, but I was in the doghouse without options. This was going to be a damn cute date night. 

In retrospect, we should have never gone in the store. We could tell from the foot traffic, valet-chaos and people scrounging for shopping carts that the store was grossly mobbed. I had envisioned a relaxing and joyous grocery trip, filled with playful bickering about the firmness of the squash we chose and the tossing and catching of items to be gently placed and organized in the grocery cart. I was living in a fairytale. Instead, our reality was much more similar to Walmart on Black Friday. 

Between receiving hard shoulder brushes, shopping carts running over feet and being cut-off at each and every step, I had found myself in a manic state. If you were lucky enough to even get close to a piece of produce, you’d find others’ arms going above and below your own, rubbing all against you. And if you shot a deserved dirty look at the various perpetrators, you were returned with an even dirtier look. It was at this time that Khrista saw the steam bursting from my ears and realized that my usability was declining rapidly. She instructed me to ‘man the cart’ while she’d fight her way to the next item, leaving me in a few of the quieter areas, akin to a lioness leaving her incapable cub during a hunt.

Eventually we made it through the necessary sections, fought off the jackals trying to cut the winding checkout lines and returned home to prepare a delicious meal. And though it was indeed delicious, I am still working my way back into Khrista’s good graces. If my calculations are correct, it can be achieved through a few more loads of laundry and a lifetime of taking out the trash.