He Yelled When I Refused To Buy His Mother’s Fancy Groceries

of olive oil that cost more than the shoes I wore to mow the lawn. Two bottles of aged balsamic vinegar that looked like they belonged in a locked display case. Hand rolled chocolate truffles in a gold box. A tin of something my mother in law Patricia had described, in a tone usually reserved for fine jewelry, as proper sardines. And, perched among continue reading …