You Never Asked Me

What part of, "Do you want anything from the store?" don't you understand?

Seriously.

I hate traipsing about The Devil's Playground every weekend, filling the cart with items that won't get eaten until the day before they expire, and then arriving home to a chorus of, "Didn't you get any...?" Nobody ever needs anything. They know I make this trip every weekend. And usually a couple of times through the week.

Is it too much to ask that you all ask for what you want?

Monday morning rolls around. Oops! Somebody needs some manly antiperspirant. I'm out of shampoo. There's no more of that face soap in the closet. What am I supposed to eat for breakfast? There's nothing in this house to eat. What happened to all the Hawaiian Rolls? I only ate his cereal because it's all there was (why don't you make HIM eat the school lunch instead of taking cereal every day) so he'll just have to take something else. I need white T-shirts to wear under my colored T-shirts so I don't have sweat showing, and his are too tight on me now. Why didn't you get some more of those Hot Buffalo Wing Chips? I'm all out of sugar-free Life Savers. Where did all the bologna go? I like the spicy mustard, but that says 2009. Where are my french toast sticks?

And today, the minute I came up the driveway and caught Goatherder H in the front yard with no time to hide from carrying in the groceries, because his goats have eaten the giant yucca plants, he had the nerve to ask, "Did you get another one of those big sandwiches like last week?" No. No, I didn't. First of all, you say you don't like them, because there's too much bread. And even though I get The Devil's sandwich with the multi-grain bread because it's better for you, and sometimes even scoop out the bready insides of the top and bottom layers, you still say you don't like the big sandwich. Even though you ate half of it last week to keep me from taking it in my lunch.

When I put away the groceries, and saw that Breakfast On The Run H was out of his whole-grain blueberry/strawberry bagels, and mentioned that I did not buy more, he sighed. He expelled a whoosh of air like that giant bouncy moonwalk children's inflatable party structure right after he unplugged the generator supplying its fan and collapsed it on top of employees' children at his work barbecue. Which is foolish, really, because in the freezer lies a box of Eggo Mulitgrain Blueberry Waffles that he requested last month. These are his on-the-road breakfast items. No syrup. Just a handfull of carbs in disk shape. But multi-grain.

Shed a single Indian garbage tear for the Golden Delicious Apples, the bananas, the head of cabbage, the tomatoes, the lettuce, the multi-grain tortillas, and also the Save A Lot meat that resides in the freezer. Nobody asks for them. They might as well be the green beans and broccoli and string cheese and green grapes who languish in anonymity in the Hillbilly Mansion kitchen.

I have discovered that if I hold out long enough, so that supper is not ready until after 6:00, they will happily eat whatever is set out for them. Tonight, we're going for baked chicken breasts with broccoli and cheese. And maybe some stuffing for The Pony, who is no fan of the broccoli. Or maybe some cooked apples. Shh...they think I add sugar.