Panic! at the Shopping Trip

“Hey, Kellin, I’m going out to get groceries, okay?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and I’m still half-asleep in bed when I hear the voice of my husband, Vic. “Okay,” I say. “Have fun.”

Once I hear the car pull out of the driveway, I jump up, all tiredness forgotten. He’s gone, and that means it’s time for me to buy him some of his Christmas presents. I mean, I’ll be buying presents for a bunch of other people, too, but he’s the main priority.

Vic usually takes about an hour and a half to get groceries—he’s quite meticulous—but that still doesn’t give me much time, especially since I have to get home and hide the presents before he comes back. This is a hardcore, fast-paced environment.

I get ready rapidly, showering in two minutes flat (and brushing my teeth while I’m in there, which, yes, is just as awkward as it sounds). I’m still pulling my shirt and jacket on as I rush out the door, and it’s only after I’m in my car that I realize I didn’t even eat breakfast.

Fuck it.

I’m almost speeding as I make my way to the mall, planning out the whole expedition in my head. I practically sprint through the parking lot, earning me many weird looks from all the slow-walking civilians that I absolutely do not have time for.

The first stop is Hallmark, where I plan to get him a card so cheesy that he’ll cherish it forever, because that’s how our relationship generally works. He even proposed to me on a beach while we were taking a sunset walk—the cliché to end all clichés.

My gaze roams up and down the aisles, desperately searching for the perfect card. Now my perfectionism is kicking in, finding something wrong with every single one, which is horrifically inconvenient when you’ve got a time limit. Maybe I should’ve thought this through a little more.

There’s no time to regret it, Kellin. Focus.

Luckily, my eyes land on one that seems to fit perfectly, and I grab it hurriedly, rounding a corner into the next aisle. That’s when life decides to throw me a curveball, because standing in that aisle, turned toward the racks of cards with an expression of concentration and indecisiveness, is none other than Vic.

It takes a few moments for my mind to process this information, followed by mass confusion and mild panic. Last I checked, Hallmark was not a grocery store, which means that he lied to me, which means that he’s probably secretly getting me Christmas presents…at the same time that I’m getting his.

I back out of the aisle and into the next one over, thanking God that Vic seemed too distracted to notice I was there. Okay, Kellin, don’t panic, I tell myself. You can still do this; you’ve just got to be careful. Pretend you’re an FBI agent on a covert stakeout mission or something.

I peek my head around the corner. Vic still seems to be deciding on a card, taking his sweet time, so I make my way up to the register, my own card in hand.

"Oh, hey, Kellin!"

This is the greeting I get after taking a few steps out of the store. The person speaking is my friend Justin, who was walking past me.

“Shhh,” I warn, holding my index finger up to my lips and glancing back at Hallmark. “I’m not Kellin. You don’t know me. Move along.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Dude, what?”

I fight the urge to smack my forehead. “Vic can’t know I’m here,” I say. “If you see him, I wasn’t here. I’m sleeping, probably.”

I glance at Hallmark again, which is when I see that Vic is now at the register and about to walk out. I grab Justin by the wrist and pull him with me into the nearest store, which just so happens to be Victoria’s Secret, because God most likely enjoys laughing at my misfortunes.

"Sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with you," Justin mutters. He doesn’t question why Vic isn’t supposed to know I’m here; he’s used to my antics by now.

"Love you, too, Jus," I reply, watching for Vic from one of the store windows and pointedly ignoring all the weird looks we’re getting.

Vic passes us a few seconds later, and I quickly exit the store, Justin in tow. “Okay,” I say. “That didn’t happen. I’m not here.”

"Got it."

With that, I proceed to shop in a rapid and somewhat paranoid fashion. This trip is testing not only my speed, but also how many different bags I can carry at one time. It’s proving to be more difficult than I expected, but I refuse to give up now.

The last stop is the bookstore, because Vic is a giant nerd (and also, I’m getting my mom a cookbook). I think I’m making pretty good time, so I sort of forget that there’s still the risk of running into Vic until I hear his voice, talking to a worker: “Hey, do you know where I can find scrapbooks and things like that?”

Oh my God. That fucking dork.

I don’t know why, but I’ve been getting really into taking pictures of things, and Vic has made several jokes about it. Then, about a month ago, I muttered to myself something about wanting to create collages of all these memories (cheesy relationship, remember?). Vic overheard me and gave me a particularly thoughtful look, and now I understand why.

Yeah, okay, this is why I married him.

I’m so caught up in smiling to myself at the utter adorable-ness of it all—I do have a heart beneath my layers of sass and vague dislike for all of humanity except Vic—that I almost forget a very crucial problem: I’m not hidden. I could be seen.

I try to pick up all my bags, along with the books I’m buying, and carry it all up to the register. It’s awkward, but I make it, and the worker gives me an amused look. “Having some trouble?” she asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say quietly, glancing at where the other worker took Vic, closer to the back of the store.

"Christmas shopping?" she says as she rings me up.

"You have no idea," I reply. At that moment, Vic pops out of one of the aisles, holding something and looking like he’s about to make his way up here. "Shit," I whisper.

"What?" the worker says, handing me my books in a small plastic bag.

"I was never here," I say quickly. "Merry whatever. Bye." With that, I grab all my things and rush out of the store, trying to figure out where I came in so I can get to my car.

Once again, people are giving me weird looks as I speed-walk throughout the mall. It just so happens that I came in from the very opposite side, which is fucking great, but somehow I make it out alive and throw all my things into the trunk in a panic. It’s only once I’m in the driver’s seat and making my way out of the parking lot that I let out a sigh of relief. That was stressful.

When I get home, I run around some more, hiding the presents in random places that Vic will probably (hopefully) never find. I only have about five minutes of relaxation time before Vic comes in with bags of groceries—he must’ve stopped to get some to make it look less suspicious. “I’m home!”

"Hooray," I say, my face buried in the couch cushions. I’ve been lying here and basically doing nothing, which is a great form of stress relief.

I notice that he doesn’t have any bags from the mall, but those are probably hidden in his car, and he’s waiting for a time when I’m not around to bring them in. We take keeping our Christmas gifts hidden very seriously. As you can probably tell.

"Hey, did you go out somewhere while I was gone?" Vic asks.

I pop my head up. “Wait, why?” I say slowly.

"Because when I left, your car was in the garage, and now it’s parked in the driveway."

Shit.