“Let’s have Vietnamese Lettuce Wrap thingies this week,” I suggested while we were grocery shopping.

“Sure.  I’m going to the butcher counter for chicken and bacon.”

I grabbed the stuff I needed.  Cilantro, lettuce, scallions, carrots….

Then I turned to the next bin….

I needed ginger.

A knob of ginger.

As I sorted through the bin holding all shapes and sizes of ginger, his words rang through my mind, “Find one that is big enough” as he gave me that look telling me that ginger in our shrimp dinner was not all that it was going to be used for.

I could feel my face flush at that memory.

I finally found one that would work – for the recipe that calls for it, that is – and put it in the bag.

But the memories still replayed in my head.

Using fresh ginger for another recipe I was cooking for him….another time.

Walking away from the cutting board to stir something.  Seeing him walk over to it as he reached into his pocket.  Hearing the click of his pocket knife opening. Looking over at the sound – having his eyes eat mine as a grin spread over his face.  Knowing I was in trouble.  Finding myself bent over the counter, skirt lifted, and feeling his fingers push the ginger where he intended it to be.

Then his chuckle at me as I squirmed and moaned and made other weird noise as I responded to the feeling of fresh ginger in a very sensitive part of me.

“Find one that is big enough.”

The words kept playing through my head as I walked to the meat counter to put the ginger into the basket with the rest of the groceries.

I texted him as I stood there waiting.

“Buying ginger always makes me squirm a bit ….”

He simply responded:

“As it should be….”