Last week, Brian and I went to Hellmart to gather my supplies for my Great Day Green Country TV segment. Brian didn't want to be there. He never wants to be at Hellmart, but on this particular night he was coming off a three-day sinus infection that had laid him flat. Once my list had been checked twice, we went through our new self-checkout. I'm not sure what it is about the self-check out, but dang if it's not fun, right? There's power in that scanner, y'all.
I turned to Brian before I began scanning and asked, "Do you want to bag?"
He shook his head, so I scanned and bagged. Rwar! I am woman! I can do it all!
And I got it all in one bag.
"Heather? Geez," Brian sighed and pulled another bag out and started re-bagging my purchases.
You see, back in the day, Brian was a state-champion bagger.
No. I'm not kidding.
"I asked you if you wanted to bag," I whined when he was redoing my chance at carrying in all of our purchases in one hand.
"I don't. But I don't want to pick up a bag full of your stuff from the driveway when the bag breaks."
"You miss it, don't you. You miss bagging the groceries, stacking heavy to light, creating sacks full of groceries that won't squish." I teased as I paid out.
"I really don't. I just don't want the bag to bust before we get home," he sighed.
"You miss the apron, right? You wanna wear the apron when we get home?"
It was at that point that he stopped talking to me.
But he did wear the apron around the house the next day.