Ch 7 Tuesday We buy our own lunch on our way to Sly and Doris’ because finally, I have wised up and accepted that the world is the way it is and I will no longer struggle against something big and unstruggle-able-against, like Sly and Doris and the fact that they are very bad hosts who do not provide lunch for their guests

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.

Primo: Do you have anything for lunch?

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.

    Primo: We knew we would be stopping at the store so I could get this deal. We’ll get us some lunch and we can grab you some snacks.

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?