We met somewhere close to the middle, both trying to peer into each other’s baskets, curiosity trumping fair play. Josh hid his basket behind his back, and I did the same. “Okay, so I’ll take you through mine first. Then we’ll see what you’ve got and then we’ll decide the winner.” Schoolteacher Sarah, the one with all the questions, bit her lip and nodded.

“Here we go.” He held up each item as he named it. “Ping pong paddle.” I nodded. I had one in my basket too, but I didn’t say anything. “Orange food colouring.” Yep, definitely gets a point for that. “Fishing lure.” And another. “Cheese in a can.” Geez, America. Good pick, though—another point.

Then he paused. “And the piece de resistance”—I ignored his mangled French—“and this is totally going to win the game for me—ta da!” He held up a package of floppy discs. Yes, actual floppy discs.

“Seriously? How am I supposed to beat that? It’s like you caught the Golden Snitch.”

“Your turn,” he said, grinning at me.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve already won, but okay.” I held up the ping pong paddle first, saying nothing, and the look on his face indicated that we cancelled each other out. Then I held up item two and said, “Box of caps for a cap gun, but I couldn’t find a cap gun.”

“Nice.”

I held up the third item. “Bread in a can.”

“What? Is that even a thing?”

“I’m going with, yes, it is. Number four, lime-green nail polish.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s awful.”

“And lastly, this.” I held up a magazine in silver wrapping. “Porn.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, my god, that is awesome. You totally win.” I was so excited, I actually jumped up and down. “Come here,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. “You’re the best novice I’ve ever played this game with.”

I took a little bow. He looked around. “Now, is there actually anything you want from here?”

“Well, how about we eat in tonight? I know we said we’d go out, but we can get some antipasto stuff and a bottle of wine. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.” He held up the cheese in a can. “Does this count as antipasto?”

“Uh, no. That’s more like antifoodo.” He groaned at my play on words. “What? That was funny,” I said in my defence.

“It really wasn’t.”

I poked my tongue out at him. “You get the food. I’ll get the wine.” I figured I probably had a better idea of what might be a decent bottle, but I didn’t say that.

Josh went off to get us our antipasto dinner, and I searched through the small selection of wine. In the end, I chose a rosé by a local winery, Maui Wine. We met up by the checkout, and when it came time to pay and I pulled out my wallet, he waved me away. “Loser buys.”

“Did you just make that up?”