NOT SO DAILY BLOGS

I Went Shopping With The Female Ratatouille

Light Family Shenanigans To Start The Day Right

Last evening, I came back home from my hammock adventure in the park. I took a fast and cold shower, as the hot water is still not up and running, and went to eat some fresh stew the Ratatouilles had made while I was away.

As I was scooping the food in peace in the kitchen while watching a local football (soccer) game, my peace and quiet didn’t last long. The kitchen door was busted open, and Mom barged in.

“Adyyyyy!” the female Ratatouille shouted like a spoiled little brat.

“What?” I asked as I put my spoon down.

I was tired and not in the mood for my folks’ usual shenanigans. They always come rushing to me for every little thing.

“I don’t wanna hear it. I’ll eat anything.” I replied, knowing fully well that the female Ratatouille was going to ask me what other food we should make tomorrow.

It’s always like that with Mom. She will call a family meeting for the stupidest reasons ever. This time I got away with it, as it seems she and Dad already discussed this for at least 30 minutes that day while I was in the park.

I dodged a bullet for sure as Mom lightly pouted for a bit and just went with whatever they decided in my absence. But that wasn’t all.

“Will you go grocery shopping with me tomorrow?”

That’s unexpected. Mom rarely goes shopping unless she wants something specific that she must inspect properly. In our house, I do 80% of the shopping, Dad does 15%, and Mom does the remaining 5%.

To be honest, the female Ratatouille is quite a pretentious client. I hate shopping for her since she always goes for the most rare and sought-out brands and variations. And she would rather I buy none than get a substitute.

I found it quite weird that she was stepping up for the task and did not send me and dad to do the heavy lifting.

“Okay, fine.”

“And when should we go?”

“I don’t know, ten or eleven o’clock, when I wake up.”

“No, that’s too late. Make it nine.”

“…”

Why did she even ask me, like it was up to me? Anyway, I resigned myself to my cruel fate, and the Ratatouille happily went away, like she got her cheese and ate it too.

Fast forward to the next day. Only then did I realize her wicked scheme. As I woke up around 9:30 and went to the bathroom to freshen up, I saw that the male Ratatouille was in the kitchen, preparing the food.

Mom got up early to put some meat and potatoes in the oven (the bowl with the tin foil over it) and make a mushroom stew (the small red pot from the left).

Then, as Mom and I got ready to go shopping, Dad was making the bean dish (the white pot in the middle) and the meatball soup (the large red pot on the right).

So it’s like that, huh? Did Mom go shopping with me so she could dodge any further kitchen duty and dump it all on Dad? Nah, that must not be it. We usually cook together, and it’s a fun family activity.

The female Ratatouille was just in her shopping spree mood. I later found out that while I was in the park with the hammock, she dragged my dad after her the whole day from shop to shop: furniture, house objects, clothes, you name it.

Now it was my turn. She craved a different victim. And just to add insult to injury, on the way to the hypermarket, I had to endure a “What’s up with your hair? Why didn’t you fix it properly? You look like you’ll soon take off and fly all the way to Spain!” speech.

Anyway, we made our way inside the shop, and we only bought two or three items that we actually needed. We spent around $100 on snacks, sweets, and small, expensive cheeses and cured meats.

The above picture is in the local currency, called lei. 1 leu is around 4 dollars and 40 cents, just to give you an estimate, and the minimum wage is around $600 in our country.

After I paid the groceries with my card, Mom asked me how much all that junk was worth. I got close to her ear and whispered, “My profits from three days of writing!”

That was so cocky of me. I never thought I’d see a day when I could flaunt my writing “career” so shamelessly.

When we came back home, we found the male Ratatouille still in the kitchen, blasting loud traditional music.

As he saw we were back, he rushed to browse through the bags like a little kid, scavenging for snacks.

I fought my urge to scold my old man like a parent and joined him in his endeavor. You know what they say; if you can’t beat them, then join them. We let Mom be the parent and scold us for acting childish.

Me, being childish? I rarely get to do that with my folks’ shenanigans. I swear to God that I barely get to be the kid with these two Ratatouilles around!