I remember your supermarket pace. Both hands on the trolly with a piece of lined journo paper clinched between your knuckles. I hear the jangle of your keys, bag hooked to shoulder and curls blowing as you glide the tiled floor. The ostrich neck strains whilst mouth open slight, concentrating.
The date isn't long enough so you crouch down to reach another. I'm watching you pick out milk and silently talk to yourself, already working out what to search for next. Your chocolate cords drip across the floor and pink toenails breathe for air. You wore flip flops in winter.
You never stuck to that list. We came home with impulse delights. This trip would be our social grace. Teamwork. It's where we came together, Saturday night by the fire after shopping for our evening treat. We came as three. Dinner, dessert, and perhaps that cheap DVD. Usually we would scroll the entertainment section, browse home and spend too much money on sugar and cheese. It was our weekend escape. A rare moment where we would be spoilt for choice.
Two of us would carry the shopping in whilst you text on your phone. By the time the boot was empty you'd still be sat in the front of the car finishing your last words. I would get stressed as it would never fit in the fridge. We managed somehow.
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