Some things are so small, so trivial that they are not worth getting upset about. But some people do not realize that. Some people get upset at the smallest hint of provocation.
“We are out of orange juice again.” says Honey.
“So? If we don’t have any orange juice, drink something else. Drink some of my juice in the 6-pack bottles.”
“If I drink that then you won’t have any juice,” he growls. “I have to go to Publix.”
It wouldn’t be so bad if we only had this conversation once in a while, but we have it two or three times a week. How much orange juice can one man drink?
“Somebody drank my orange juice,” he says, eying me suspiciously.
“Well it wasn’t me. I have my own.”
He rants for a while. “What happens to all the orange juice around here? Somebody drinks it.”
Good grief! It is only orange juice. Get over it.
I don’t want to accuse anyone, but I’m beginning to wonder if he pours it out to have an excuse to go to the grocery store. Every night, right at dinner time, he has to go to Publix.
It makes me crazy. What is it with him and Publix? It is a nice store and all, but not that nice. I swear, if I didn’t know him better, I would think he is having an affair with the cashier or something. He is at the grocery store more than he is at home.
Of course, the grocery store cashier never runs out of orange juice. Maybe that adds to her attraction.
Then one day we decide to stop at Publix on the way home from work. I really don’t like the store that much myself. I think the prices are too high. But it is the grocery closest to where we live.
“We are out of orange juice,” he says.
Where have I heard this before?
I often wait in the car when he makes his little pit stops, but this time I needed a few items too. “I think I will go inside with you.” I watch out of the corner of my eye to see if he looks like a man who is up to something.
We get inside and he heads for the orange juice. I head for whatever it is that I needed and add a few impulse items, of course. I can’t seem to go in a grocery store without spending $50. If I went as much as he does, I couldn’t pay the bills.
I finish shopping and head for the checkout counter, but I can’t find Honey. Where is that man? I’m tired. I want to go home. Then I see him at the Customer Service counter. Since when did they start selling orange juice at Customer Service?
I stomp over to the Customer Service counter with death-by-grocery-cart on my mind. “What are you doing? Hurry up!” He turns around with a handful of lottery tickets.
“Oh, you are buying lottery tickets?” Personally, I never play the lottery. I donate enough money to the state coffers when I pay taxes on groceries at check out.
“I have to have them run through the machine to see if I won,” says Honey. So, that’s what this addiction to orange juice is all about? It’s just an excuse to play the state lottery?
I thought he had another love, but who would suspect it was the lottery.
Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss