Earlier this week, we learned that the grocery store we frequent will soon close. The same is true for other locations of the same chain in our area.
This store is not "sexy." It doesn't have a cafe or a pharmacy or a sushi chef. On the other hand, it doesn't have a police guard, bulletproof cash register windows or display shelves made of cardboard boxes. It's just your average utilitarian grocery store. The kind you probably shopped at when you were a kid. A supermarket...but just barely.
We like it because the prices are exactly right. The nearest competitor prides itself on its "sales," but otherwise, their prices are at least 5% higher than this one, across the board.
For some background, I pay most of the bills for our household, but Carl takes care of electric, water, and groceries. We've reached a state of detente with regard to our widely differing diets: He gives me $20 a week to stock up on my semi-healthy frozen entrees and other items for lunch. On Sunday, the last day of his work week, he takes the bus from work to our grocery store, shops, and then calls me to pick him up. Then we go home and spend an hour or so putting food away and conversing about how much things cost and/or how much we saved. It's an arrangement that's worked well for a couple of years now.