I take my father to the grocery store on a weekly basis. Our pilgrimage happens with near military precision on Saturday afternoon at 1pm. Why Saturday you ask? Well with my work schedule a weekday would be either too early or too late, and on Sunday the pharmacy is closed.
The trip is always the same: we load into the car, drive to the store, we take out "the list" (he and my mother compile it during the week), we trudge up and down the aisles for the better part of two hours, we return home, we properly locate the items we've bought in their proper places, and I drink a well deserved glass of wine (of two).
Last week was a small bit different. Two thirds of the way between my parent's home and the store that we simply must shop at (that's ten miles each way), my father looks at me and asks "Do you have "the list"?"
Needless to say the day was wasted. I had to try to fill the grocery order from memory, only to have to return the following day to fulfill the balance of grocery items in the morning. I love my dad, and I always will, but like having an addiction to biochemistry or botany, it requires a lot of time, a lot of patience, and hell of a lot more training than you can possibly imagine.