They walked through the grocery store side by side, each with elbows on the shopping cart. There were other couples too. Most of em together, some separated by space, and others trying to keep up with children; crying, pulling items off shelves, tugging at their mom’s dresses. All rewarded with candy and pop. A firm hand no longer was practiced.
And they’d flirt with each other in the wine aisles. He’d select a red while she had her eye on a white. They’d tease each other and take both kinds.
There seemed to be a peace in the wine aisles. A magical place where couples came and marveled at the various bottles. Screw tops and corks. Some on sale for $4.99 and others up to $35.00 and beyond. Wine is wine, her daddy always said. Don’t need anything fancy to get you where you need to go, the old man would scoff. She always brought up stories about pop in the wine aisles. Just short little stories. She missed him dearly.
A lot of couples never made it over to the wine aisles. They never found peace. They’d settle for PBR, Budweiser, Miller Lite on special. They’d buy em in cases of 24, sliding the boxes under their carts. Mom’s and dad’s drinking away the day’s problems; the rent being late, their son’s failing grades, a leak in the roof, a sex life wilted. Magic was gone.
So, the couple toasted to each other. He with a red and she with a white. To love and to us. They’d kiss and pour another glass. Watching the yellow moon as clouds rolled by. Just watching.