No divorce

Rick and I won't be getting a divorce despite going grocery shopping together. For those of you know how well we get along doing almost everything, you will be surprised to know grocery shopping isn't anywhere on the list.

In Geneva we can't avoid the supermarkets. Gone are the friendly chats with the green grocery, the teasing about my accent, a recipe from the butcher, catching up on local news, the smell of bread fresh from the oven at the bakery. In its place are aisles and aisles of stuff, stuff we don't need.

He and I have very different methods when we go into a supermarket. He wanders up and down the aisles in case we might need something not on the list. It has a practicality to it.

I have my list and go straight to the item and feel a failure if I buy much other than what is on the list.

There is one exception -- an Italian grocery store on Long Island where each aisle is more glorious than the previous one. Unfortunately, I am never there long enough to sample all the goodies.

Today we crossed the border to shop in France. Because we are heading south on Sunday, Gilets Jaunes permitting, we were buying not a great deal, but more stuff to have when we come back.

We are also trying not to buy stuff in plastic, which is a challenge.

It wasn't all bad. No arguments over how soft the toilet paper should be.

He accepted I didn't mean to hit him when I pointed at the shampoo aisle. I didn't mean to. Honest.

He didn't mention that I needed a lesson on how to pack groceries to carry them to car (maybe when I pointed out the time he did, that I'd been packing groceries well over a half a century without the lesson he knew it was better not to mention it a second time). I let him pack.

I am grateful that Rick does most of the grocery store shopping. He is grateful I don't go with him.

We left smiling and went into the beautiful clear air. The snow-covered mountains were a reward for having to have shopped. However, most times, we will go individually. For the sake of our marriage.