Primo has some deal with his American Express card where he will get a $30 credit for spending money at six merchants. He still needs to buy something from Whole Foods, which is not a place he or I usually shop because it is outrageously expensive, although I am happy to take the sample tour.
Primo: Dad, I have an American Express deal where I need to spend some money at Whole Foods. We’re stopping there before we get to your house. Do you need anything?
Me: Ask if they have anything for lunch.
I know! I know I said I accepted this, but it’s like picking at a scab. I keep pulling it off just to see the wound bleed. I cannot let this go. I need to! I need to offer my suffering up to Jesus, as my sweet grandmother, who, even at the age of 93, before she moved into assisted living, walked the three blocks to 6 a.m. Mass every day, suggests I do. I could get souls out of purgatory.
He turns to me, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.
Primo: OK. We’ll eat lunch at the store and see you guys in a bit. Bye.
Me: I have had a migraine for three days already just dreading coming here. And now it’s getting worse because I am getting hungry. I should have packed more food to bring on the plane.
As one does, we walk the perimeter of Whole Foods, eating as we go: cheese and persimmons and guacamole and Rice Krispies treats. I don’t like their prices, but I do like their samples. We buy a couple of sandwiches to eat in the store and then a loaf of nice bread and some deli turkey and some roast beef to take to Sly and Doris’.
Me: Your parents won’t eat this, will they?
Primo: No, they won’t.
Me: It’s bad enough that we have to take our own food to their house. Taking food to feed them would be unbearable.
Primo: Don’t worry. They only like the gross sandwich meat. Like baloney. Besides, they don’t eat lunch. Remember?