More Shopping?!

Saturday was a day Fred later felt in his heart of hearts he could have done without. Oh, the breakfast at Myrtle’s was nice. Poached eggs were kind of interesting, he thought, especially when Myrtle cut a hole in the toast and slid the egg into it. He was certainly full anyway. But then came more shopping. He wasn’t quite sure where he completely lost control. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he was ever actually in control. When he’d asked Myrtle to help with the shopping, he hadn’t had this in mind. But there were still a number of things he apparently needed for his apartment and Myrtle was set on getting it done so everything would be ready when he got out of the hospital.

Fred didn’t really care. The apartment was not even confirmed yet. And as long as there was a place to sleep, sit, eat and watch TV, he was going to be satisfied for the time being. Alas, Myrtle was not. They were probably only about ten or so minutes into the first store when Fred just lost interest. But not wanting to fall asleep amongst the stuffies again, he tried to stay on Myrtle’s trail as she moved about the store, deftly grabbing this, carefully assessing that. Fred didn’t want to hurt her feelings at all, so with one arm across his waist, the other elbow propped on it and a hand thoughtfully perched across his mouth, he offered up a chorus of squeaks, grunts, hums and other noises meant to convey his interest, agreement, approval, or curiosity when it came to whatever item Myrtle was showing him. He didn’t care that the shower curtain had ducks on it, or that the dishes had flowers on them. Somewhere in his mind’s eye, he pictured the dishes covered with food anyway. He didn’t care if his cutlery was made of silver plated white metal or tin. He would have been happy with a couple of boxes of plastic forks and spoons. A dish drainer? They actually had to drain? Visions of paper plates danced in his head. In fact, they swirled. He stood there gazing at Myrtle with vacant eyes whilst visions of some fellow spinning plates on rods invaded his brain.

“Fred,” said Myrtle again.

Fred jumped visibly. “Oh... oh... I’m sorry, Myrtle. I was thinking about something else,” he confessed, smiling rather sheepishly.

"Are you ok?” she asked, with genuine concern, also remembering Fred asleep amongst the stuffed animals. “Should we take a break? There’s a coffee shop in this store.”

Fred stood there for the longest time thinking about coffee and how he’d had enough already for one day. Then he decided he was really still too full for food. Myrtle watched, her one eye large with concern as she waited for his response. “No... no... it’s ok,” he said at last. “I don’t really want anything, Myrtle,” he sort of muttered. And yet, Myrtle took him gently by the hand and led him to the coffee shop, attempting all the while to steer their buggy with her other hand.

Before they got there, it suddenly occurred to Fred that he should help her with the buggy at least. “Let me push that, Myrtle,” he said, grabbing onto the buggy handle. Myrtle let him, but laid her hand on the side of the buggy, as if worried that she might lose track of Fred and his purchases if she let go completely. They made it to the coffee shop, parked the buggy at the cash desk, and found a booth where a dazed Fred slumped into the seat.

Myrtle found that regular breaks were necessary for Fred to stay with her on any level, and that a little snack, like a few cookies and some milk, had a wonderful restorative affect on him, though Fred only nibbled, and it was very temporary. So they shopped for a couple more hours, back and forth between the aisles and the coffee shop. Then Myrtle thought she really couldn’t ask any more of Fred. Moreover, she'd chosen for him as much as she could without knowing for sure if she had his actual conscious knowledge of what was being bought. It was time to pay up and take him home. She was glad she had when she did, because they no sooner entered her house with a scant few packages when Fred collapsed onto her couch and fell fast asleep, his head at at awkward angle because of his collar. Myrtle just gazed at him, her eye a little wide, for a full minute. When he really didn’t move, she decided he wasn’t just kidding around. She tucked a pillow under his head and covered him over. Then she went to the car for the rest of the packages.

"Fred woke up slowly, vaguely conscious of the smell of something baking, and of wood smoke in the air, the faint, almost distant crackle of the fire and the cozy warmth of his surroundings. He opened his eyes to a softly lit room and saw Myrtle gently rocking in the chair across from him, intent upon her reading. It was all so comfortably domestic, he wanted to just close his eyes again and go back to sleep. But he was hungry and he had to relieve himself. He noticed there was also the faintest odour of some sort of other food mingled with the baking and wood smoke, so he sat up. He sniffed, rubbed his eyes and stretched. This alerted Myrtle and, smiling, she got up and went to him.

"Did you have a nice nap," she inquired. She pulled away the blanket she’d put over him and flung it across the back of the couch. He smiled sleepily and nodded. "You must be hungry," she ventured. Again he nodded. "Well, you go now and freshen up," she instructed. "I’ll go get your dinner. I’ve been keeping it warm for you."

The two departed the living room, each on their own mission. When Fred returned there was a plate of macaroni and tuna casserole and a glass of milk waiting for him on the side table at the end of the couch and Myrtle was once again rocking gently in the chair by the stove.
"I hope you like tuna casserole, Fred."

"Oh yes," he said with a smile, "I do. In fact, it’s always been a favourite of mine. I haven’t had it in a long time." As he was evidently being permitted to eat in the living room, he snuggled cozily back onto the couch and picked up his plate. He mushed the food around with his fork and lifted a fork full to his mouth.

When Fred was through his dinner, Myrtle brought him a piece of fresh-baked pie with a cup of tea and curled up on the couch beside him.

“Wow, Myrtle! Cherry pie! One of my favourites! Where did this come from?”

“I baked it, Fred,” she said, giggling. “I cheated and used frozen pastry, and just opened a bottle of sour cherries and sweetened and thickened them. Easy peasy,” she smiled.

"It’s really good,” he grinned, holding the wee plate under his chin and scooping up another piece. “I suppose we should get the things from the car when I’m through," he offered, his mouth still a little full.

"I did that while you were sleeping," smiled Myrtle.

Fred offered a hurt look. "All by yourself? Myrtle, the car must have been stuffed! You should have waited for me!" he scolded. He knew his lifting ability was limited by his injury, but he could still have carried some of the lighter items.

Myrtle squeezed his arm and smiled guiltily. "I took it easy… honest. I just opened the front door and took the short route into the house. That way I could also get the stuff in without disturbing you. You were so tired, Fred," she sympathized.

It was difficult to maintain his indignation in the face of her thoughtfulness. All and all, it had been a tough week with quite a bit more stress than Fred could really handle. He smiled, then ventured a question. "Did we get the shopping done, Myrtle?"