A few moments ago, Chris and I battled 30-degree winds while on romantic route to the supermarket.

"It's thirty-degrees," Chris said, "and I'm going to the supermarket... 'cause you're out of-"

"Well, I could have gone by myself.  But at nine o'clock, it's more fun to go with you.  Plus, you remembered that we need milk..."

"So this is what it's come to-- purchasing pads on a Thursday night?" he'd teased in his usual, dry-humored style, a winning smile on his face.

By "it", he referred to our marriage.

I giggled. 

And giggled. 

And giggled.  The winning smile remained on his face, and he stared at me mischievously from the corner of his left eye.

"Yes!" I blurted to him in laughter.

By the time we reached the supermarket, I'd laughed as much as a warm drunk.  Chris opened the door for me like a perfect, angelic gentleman.  I said "thanks", entering the quiet yet brightly lit place and wiping the soles of my sneakers on the carpet below.

I stopped the wiping.

"Why did I just do that?" I asked Chris, staring down at my feet.

"I don't know," he replied with a laugh.

We hadn't walked in snow.  But shoe-wiping had become a daily habit, something I did whenever I entered our home or anyone else's, regardless of the weather.  So I'd decided to deem the shoe-wiping activity a "symbolic" one in order to prevent myself from appearing like too much of an idiot.

"Right," I said.

We walked into the market, giving all the lovely food magazines a once-over and then heading to our respective departments.  I made a right at the "Paper products" aisle while Chris remained behind in the cold and drafty "Dairy" section.

Over four different brands and seemingly endless dimensions of pads had somehow been crammed into one tiny area, right between baby food and diapers.  When the hell had pad-shopping become so complicated?  There were thin ones, regular ones, long ones, overnight ones, petite ones, perfumed ones, unscented ones, curved ones, winged ones, un-winged ones and, of course, old-fashioned diaper-like ones.  And all of them were packaged in green, yellow, orange, pink, blue and white plastic wrappers. 

Quite the challenge stood before me, I knew.  But I'd have to choose a brand and type, quickly, for Chris was headed toward me like a little firecracker, a quart of milk hanging onto his left hand for dear life.

"S'up?" I asked, finally picking my goodies of choice from their shelf.

"Geez. That guy back there?  What the hell was he doing?  A milk taste-test?" Chris whispered, attempting to hug me with one arm, yet accidentally bumping into my hand and making my pads fall onto the floor.  I watched them land, then turned into Chris and buried my head into his coat.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha..."

"Sorry, Deb," he said, picking the small green package up from the floor and handing it back to me, gently.

"For what?  Disrupting my pad excavation?"

He went back to the Dairy dweller.

"All of the milk cartons have certain expiration dates on them.  If he can't accept them, then he should move away from dairy and allow others to get to it."

I couldn't stop laughing at his predicament.  But at the same time, I took great liberty in following such a perfect cue, for it propelled us toward the nearest available cashier. 

"Cash or credit?" the cashier asked.

"Uh, credit please" Chris responded kindly.  

We placed our two exciting items of the evening onto the conveyor belt, watching them take a slow ride into the hands of the cashier.  She beep-beeped them over the red scanning beam and announced our total.  Next, we were given permission to slide our card into a machine.  So we did.  The cashier bagged our purchase and then placed it in front of Chris.  He slid the practically see-through, feminine-product and milk filled bag over to me and signed the receipt slip.  I laughed, lifting the bag from the counter.  Chris handed the signed receipt to the cashier and she thanked us.  We thanked her back and wished her a goodnight.

"Look, I have no problem carrying groceries home.  But I'm not gonna carry pads," he said.

"Not a problem," I laughed.

We walked out into a nice, cold evening breeze, Chris hugging me with his left arm.

"Ah, Thursday night shopping with Deb!"

"It was fun!" I yelled.  "And you wouldn't have it any other way, you butt."

"Nah, I wouldn't."