I’m finally home from Florida. I’ve slept in a real bed twice now. The pile of mail has been sorted. Two loads of dirty clothes have been cycled through the wash. The daily routine of being home is all coming back to me.

Since the fishing did not go so well, we spent a little more time than usual shopping in the local area. Some of it was necessary. Some of it was just a diversion from not catching any fish.

We stopped in a couple of junk stores. Two thrift stores. And a big box store called Rural King, which is the Florida version of what you might get if Tractor Supply and Dollar General had a baby.

I learned a few things while on this trip, primarily in the form of general observations about how men and women shop differently. I have collected these in the safe deposit box of my mind for future reference in order to help me not ask dumb questions.

Here we go…

Women are wired to shop. Men are not. Women have a built in sensor that alerts them to a good bargain. Men would not know a bargain if it walked up and slapped them in the face. Women will buy things which they know they are gonna need in the future. The fact that they don’t need it right now is not a consideration. Men might buy something they need right now so long as it’s cheap.

Case #1

We are at Publix. This is a necessary shopping trip. We need milk and orange juice. These two items could easily be carried by hand. Yet when we walk inside the store, Marion gets a buggy.

“What do we need the buggy for?”

I am asking what seems like a perfectly reasonable question to me. I know why we are here. A buggy seems like overkill for two jugs of liquid.

Unknown to me, she has checked her Publix app prior to getting out of the truck. She knows before we get inside the store that this is the last day for BOGO prices this week.

“The BOGO’s change tomorrow. We might see something we need.”

First of all, I know what a BOGO is. I’m not a caveman. Second of all, she knows exactly which days this national grocery chain swaps out their sale prices, but she can’t remember my phone number.

I grab the buggy and begin to push. We walk a few aisles on the way to the back of the store where they keep the milk and juice. None of the BOGO’s grab her attention, so we make our way up front and go through the checkout.

That’s when the bargain sensor in her head goes off.

“They might have pie filling on sale. Wait right here while I go check.”

I wait a few moments, but then I figure I’ll go see if she needs the buggy. I’m making my way down aisle #3 when I see her. She’s down on the floor.

Did she fall down? I don’t think so. No. She’s on her knees, propped on one hand, the south end up in the air, and she’s digging out can after can of pie filling.

I ease up quietly. “Are you making a pie tonight for supper?”

Again, I think that this is a reasonable question based on the scene in front of me.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“The dozen cans of pie filling on the floor, I guess.”

She informs me that she and several other of the ladies in the kitchen crew at church use these all the time and that she’s buying enough to share, and besides that, it’s a good deal that won’t be on sale by the time she gets home.

Men, I assure you, do not think like this.

Case #2

The thrift store. We had no plans to go here, but while making a U-turn in the middle of the four lane, Marion spotted the sign.

“Turn here. Turn here. No. No. No. Right here. Turn.”

The word “here”, mind you, is not very specific. It could mean the drive right next to us or the drive a hundreds yards down the road. It could mean turn left or right. It could also mean we just passed it.

Anyway, once inside, we hit the mother load of bargains. The cabin was lacking a few things, and somehow, she knew that this was the place to find what we needed. We bought a Cuisinart Coffee Maker, retail price $129, for $2.50. We also needed an extra light in the kitchen. She found an architect’s drafting lamp, normally $49, for another $2.50.

And she bought an Ott lamp.

“What’s an Ott lamp?”

“You don’t know what an Ott lamp is?”

Apparently, every woman on the face of the earth who sews knows what an Ott lamp is and would die to have one for $2.50.

This time, I tip my hat to the bargain hunters.

Case #3

We are on the interstate making our way home. I am not thinking about shopping. She’s not either, but then a billboard for Ellis Brothers Pecans catches her eye. She whips out her phone and, in a few minutes, announces to the rest of us in the truck that they have a deal on pecan halves.

“Nine bucks a pound,” she says.

Romona says, “We should stop and take a look.”

Using her best tone of shock and surprise, she asks, “Do you know how much I pay for pecans at Sam’s?”

I look at Joe. Joe looks at me. We are clueless.

We take the exit off I-75 and follow the signs for about a mile. Ellis Brothers is a farm store in the heart of pecan country. If it’s a nut, and you can put some kind of chocolate, glaze, topping, or gooey sprinkle over it, they have it in spades. Plus they offer samples.

Inside, I notice a lady loading up a shopping cart. I’ll call her Sue. Sue looks and sounds like everybody’s grandma who knows her way around a kitchen. She’s got one pound bags of pecans stacked like cord wood in her cart. She’s got containers of specialty nuts, candied nuts, dipped nuts, and powder covered nuts.

I get behind her at the cash register, and I whisper to Marion, “I’d like to see how much that costs.”

I didn’t whisper softly enough.

Sue informed me that this was not all for her. She stops here every year on her way home from the Cardinal’s spring training camp. All her friends from her quilting group and her Bible study group give her a list so she can pick up a few things for them.

“So, where do you call home?” I asked her.

“St. Louis,” she says.

Her ticket? $405. My eyes are burning.

“You can’t get it for this price anywhere else,” she says with a wink.

I look out the window. Joe is sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. I walk out to join him while our wives finish rounding up all the bargains they need.

We men know where we belong.