I feel as though it’s been ages since I wrote anything meaningful. By meaningful, I just discovered as I wrote this down, I mean “stuff that makes me mad.”
So apparently my happiness causes my writing to suffer.
I went to the Hippie Grocery store last night for an emergency soymilk and refried black bean run.
“Unsweetened,” I was told, “not Plain. You’d think they’d be the same, but they’re not.”
“Peanut butter?” I asked, in my usual non sequitur way. He looked in my fridge.
“Nope. You’ve got both PB and J.”
“Yea, but do you?”
“Because I would like you to stop stealing mine.”
In the end he decided that I was right and he did need peanut butter. I pulled in at 45 minutes to close, as I tend to do, and wandered through the aisles looking at all the cool stuff and trying to get my grocery store bearings. I happened upon the refried bean section and discovered a massive sale on refried black beans. I love black beans. I love refried beans. Together they are like a magical mix of happy.
I bought five cans.
I was on the phone reading aloud the type of soymilk I’d found (I’m not a soymilk drinker, myself, and had trouble finding the right stuff) when I dropped my stuff off at the register. When I hung up the little lady began to ring up my groceries and asked if my husband had always been a soy man.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused by many things in the sentence.
“Oh, I saw you two in here last week!” she said with a smile. “Newlyweds in the area, I thought, since I know everyone around here. How long has he been drinking soymilk?”
I had to admit that I had no idea how long he’d been drinking soymilk since we’d only been dating for four months.
“Really?!” she said, putting down a can of beans. “We’d really pinned you as newlyweds!” She did some involved explaining about the level of simultaneous comfort and discomfort. Ease of communication but clearly two lifestyles trying to work out the “interwoving.”
Backpedaling, I feel.
Awwwww, sweet. Except I would advise you not to marry a man who drinks soy milk int he absence of a doctor’s order. He’s likely to have many weird little quirks which will, after you stop being newlyweds, drive you mad.You may be thinking that I married a man who eats cow bile so I can’t talk.