Potluck

In this family, there's only one person who goes to the grocery store. Ron. He practically lives at the Kroger on Northshore. I fully expect that he'll end up being godfather to Bob the Butcher's baby and best man in Mike the Manager's wedding. I also suspect that he's having an affair with Carla the Cashier, but far be it from me to interfere. Whatever keeps him running back and forth three, sometimes four times a week is perfectly okay in my book, because there is nothing I hate worse than going to the grocery store. And he actually likes it. Truly, it's by far his most endearing quality.
Anyhoo, this morning he asked for the grocery list - God love him - and I had it all ready. And this is an important list - the one for all the Thanksgiving dinner ingredients.
Here's the problem: while he's A#1 in going to the grocery store, he sometimes falls a little short in getting the right stuff. I try to be very specific...to avoid any possible confusion. Doesn't always work. He barely glances at the items as he throws them in the buggy. They may or may not be what my heart desires. Although he's getting better...after years of consuming the food that he "accidentally" came home with, which was this close to the food that he actually meant to buy...his record has vastly improved.
My fingers are crossed in hopes that this year, the only weird "stuff" we have to eat on Thanksgiving is the weird "stuff" I purposely make.