I do my grocery shopping on Mondays, usually by myself, unless the boys have just received their allowance and want to go with me so they can buy something. Today I was alone, feeling like I was fighting the mild cold that Nigel has, so I got everything we needed for the week and looked forward to getting home and resting on the couch with a cup of hot herbal tea.

Nigel is fascinated with dates and has a knack for remembering them, as I have mentioned before. But I had no idea what he was talking about when, as I was unpacking the groceries, he walked to the calendar on the wall and said, in his stoic voice, “Today is April 7, the Day of the Salsa.”

Were we supposed to bring salsa to a Boy Scout meeting? Was my sister’s cat, named Salsa, born on this day? Did it have something to do with salsa dancing? Mexican culture or history?

Then I realized what he was talking about. “Do you mean the expiration date on the salsa container?” Yes, he did. It was the first time I remember him even noticing an expiration date, let alone commenting on it. Why the salsa? He doesn’t eat salsa, so why would he have cared? What’s even stranger is that the date on the milk carton is two days ago, but he didn’t notice that, and he had cereal and milk for breakfast this morning. I guess that’s good, though. Otherwise we might be dealing with a new obsession, a new ritual that could make mealtimes around here more difficult than they already are.

I better make baked potatoes tonight. Tomorrow is the Day of the Sour Cream.