For starters where we are staying while I recuperate from my hip surgery, there’s just a small bar fridge and an even smaller “pantry”. And I use that term loosely. It’s more of a single cupboard really.
On that basis we weren’t able to get in all the stuff we would usually get because we had nowhere to put it. So the traditional big shop was more of a “necessities only” one.
Never mind, I assured Mrs P. Apart from the obvious days the shops would be closed, they were open on others over the four days so we could simply whip out and get some more goodies to restock the shelves. Or maybe that should be shelf, singular.
Anyway.
Typically, and I’m wondering if it’s just me who still gets mixed up by the Easter shopping hours rules, when we did go searching for sustenance, the supermarket was closed and the car park was empty.
And thus, so was our shopping bag.
In fact, all I got was the mandatory Told You So glare from the Woman Who Still Makes Me Smile as we drove home.
We did go back the next day but where we are it was bucketing down with rain and a couple of dorks decided to play vehicular tag through the car park with the forces of law and order just as we arrived, so we thought we’d leave it. Again.
The car chase did give us something to report to the grandkids more exciting than our lack of groceries, but oddly enough, they were more concerned about our food shortage than the crime spree.
Miss Eight had just been out for nachos with her parents and offered to send us the remnants of her meal. Bless.
Apparently she hadn’t been able to eat it all so she’d accepted the offer of the remains being boxed up for her to take home.
“They weren’t very nice, though, Grandad,” she told me in a very serious tone. “In fact, they were disgusting. Probably the yukkiest nachos I’ve ever had in ,whole life.”
I had to ask if that was the case why, then, had she brought the remainder home?
“Well, when the lady asked if everything was alright, I just said they were lovely, even though they were terrible. I didn’t know what to say.”
Thinking about it now it occurs to me Miss Eight is growing up very fast and obviously picking up plenty of habits from her elders. I mean that’s what we all do, isn’t it?
Anyway,
It turns out the offending nachos had already been consigned to the rubbish bin. They were still in the box which she was “pretty sure” hadn’t come open when she dumped the disgusting nachos so she would happily retrieve the box and send the nachos to us if we were still hungry. Gulp.
Obviously we thanked her for the kind offer and changed the subject. Quickly.
Later, in another call, the Easter food subject came up again. This time it was Miss Three with a solution which, the way she put it, suggested she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.
According to her, all you are allowed to eat at Easter is chocolate eggs and hot cross buns. Apparently the Easter Bunny says so.
“Obviously we could just go and do a search of the garden to see if he’d left us some.”
That’s what she and her brother had done at their place and they’d found plenty to keep them nutritionally satisfied. In her mind it stood to reason, therefore, the Easter Bunny would have done the same at our place.
I have to say her logic and innocent confidence prompted a grandfatherly smile at the other end of the phone.
As for the decree my diet over Easter should have only stretched as far as chocolate eggs and hot cross buns, you’ll hear no argument here.
As long as he doesn’t make me eat the punnet of tomatoes still taking up space in my fridge, that will be just fine with me.
