Charming, but single

My younger brother just moved into a new apartment, and I have accompanied him to the grocery store twice in the past few weeks to help him shop. As I watch him wander the aisles of the store aimlessly, his eyes glossed over and his hands free of any kind of shopping list, I'm reminded of every other shopping experience I've had with males. Every guy I've shopped with has had that same overwhelmed look on his face as he shuffled through the store, clearly taken aback by the sheer selection of food and cleaning supplies and toiletries. When I enter the grocery store, I'm a woman on a mission. I've got a pen in one hand and a list in the other and I attack the store. My list is organized by what foods are grouped together so I don't forget anything. I know exactly which brands I like and where certain oddities (hearts of palm, anyone?) are. I rarely have to double back and I rarely forget items on my list. The rest of my life may be in a constant state of flux and confusion, but I have grocery shopping down. Maybe it's because I hate it so much. Maybe it's because of years of going shopping with my mom while my younger brother stayed home. I never notice my grocery shopping prowess until I'm paired with an unskilled partner. One night, I spent more than two hours at the grocery store with B. He had just moved (a month before) and he had never gone shopping, so he was eating take out pretty much every night. We were hanging out and bored and he was hungry, so he asked me to accompany him to the grocery store at 11:30 p.m., because that's the sensible time to buy groceries, I imagine. The lack of a list amazed me. I tried to make one before we left, but he just stared at me blankly. "S," he said, "I don't have any food in my pantry. I don't need a list because I just need everything." He was clueless and lost. I wondered how someone gets to be 26 years old and not know how to really shop, but I suppose years of buying just beer and barbecue fixins does that to you. He turned into a confused child who stopped and looked at everything cool on every aisle. I turned into the sensible mother who gently guides her children away from the sweets and onto the veggies. It was an eye opening experience and a cheesy metaphor for how the two of us tackled unpleasant things -- I planned and plotted and pushed my way through while he went in with only the vague idea that he needed to eat. I don't know if this is a gender thing or just a personality conflict, but I should have known we didn't have the same, um, nutritional needs. T is the same way. One night he decided he was hungry post coitus. He had nothing but condiments, Guinness and grape juice, so he left me in bed to run to the market for some food. Bad, terrible, horrible sign.