As dedicated as I am to staying out of the maelstrom of life on the weekends, somehow itís not so bad when Iím taking Mom shopping, instead of going for myself. I wouldnít choose to go to the supermarket on a Saturday, but I didnít mind when Mom wanted to go today. I donít know why that is, exactly. It could be that I enjoy her company, but somehow it seems less a burden when Iím doing it for her.
She had a pretty sizable list, too. We went to the market on her side of town, which is bigger than the one I usually go to, so I picked up a few things that my store hasnít had lately. I would go to this bigger store more often, except that my bank is in the market where I go. They know me there, and they donít flinch when Iím trying to deposit five-figure checks into the company account. Whenever I try to use another branch of the bank (and there is one inside Momís store), they always give me grief. I donít need any more grief than I can manufacture for myself, thank you very much.