By A. C. Williams
The Piggly Wiggly smells like baking chicken as I hustle in past a leaning stack of boxed soda. The crumpled piece of notebook paper in my hand is moist with the sweat from my palm.
Three things. I can get three things. Surely I can manage that.
This time, I’ll get it right. This time, Mina will get what she sent me for.
I glue my gaze to my sneakers as I take a wire basket from the stack by the doors. Today won’t be like the last time.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” My wife’s voice echoes in my mind.
“Of course I am!” I say aloud to the skeptical cans of tuna.
An elderly, bald man throws me a look like I’ve lost my marbles. Maybe I have. I’m shouting at cans of tuna.
I uncrumple my damp grocery list and skim the instructions: canned tuna, white bread, peanut butter.
Mina likes the store-brand canned tuna, always in water. Not oil. I grab three cans and drop them in my basket. Now, a loaf of bread? Easy. She always gets the same kind—store-brand, white, sandwich size.
I rush to the bread aisle, snatch the nearest loaf off the shelf, and set it atop the cans of tuna.
Nothing to worry about.
Finally, it’s time for peanut butter.
The white tiles on the floor are shiny and bright, and my shoes squeak as I round the corner aisle. Not today shoes. Not today! I reach for the peanut butter on the shelf and freeze, hand outstretched.
Horror.
A cold sweat breaks out across my neck. There are two kinds of peanut butter on the shelf.
Creamy? Or crunchy?
Creamy or crunchy?
Creamyorcrunchy?!
The list doesn’t say!
What do I do?
I stare at my shoes, my heart fluttering and breath hitching. The wire basket slips from my fingers. The cans of tuna and loaf of bread hit the floor.
Creamy is smooth and luxurious. Crunchy is surprising and bold. Which one would Mina want? Which one is better?
I could call her. The weight of my phone is heavy in my pocket.
No, no. I won’t call. I can do this.
“Are you all right, young man?”
Startled, I look up into the face of an older woman with vibrant blue eyes.
Shoes. Shoes!
But it’s too late.
I can see her face.
“Creamy or crunchy peanut butter?” The question spills out before I can stop it.
The wrinkles in her face multiply like crinkling tissue paper as she smiles. “Oh, creamy!” She pats her jaw. “Crunchy gets stuck in my dentures.”
Instantly, my panic subsides. Creamy. Of course. What had I been thinking? Of course Mina would want creamy peanut butter.
“Right. Perfect.” I give her a thumbs up and reach for the jar of creamy peanut butter on the shelf.
It’s the best choice. Not a doubt.
My fingers brush the label.
“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice behind me says. “Could you reach one of those jars of crunchy peanut butter?”
“Crunchy?” I spin around and freeze.
The woman is tiny—probably not even five feet. She points to the shelf where the crunchy peanut butter mocks me.
Brown eyes regard me skeptically under delicately arched eyebrows.
“But crunchy gets stuck in your dentures,” I say.
She blinks at me then scowls suspiciously. “I don’t have dentures.”
It’s my turn to blink.
Well, of course, she’s right. I don’t have dentures either. Neither does my wife. So why should we limit ourselves to creamy peanut butter when a whole world of texture awaits us?
“Crunchy is so much better.” I look down at the woman, but she is fleeing up the aisle. She left without her peanut butter. That’s a terrible shame.
I set the creamy back on the shelf and exchange it for crunchy. Mina will be so happy.
“Excuse me.”
I turn back. Why is everyone talking to me today? I’m on a mission!
A woman in a shawl glares at me as she points to my dropped cans of tuna and loaf of bread. “Are these yours?”
I flush. “Yes! So sorry.” I scramble back to retrieve them. “I was so focused on what type of peanut butter to get—”
“Nutella.”
I straighten and meet the woman face-to-face. She leans toward me with her painted-on eyebrows and sparkling white teeth. Too close!
“Nutella is everything you need.” She nods fiercely.
She flounces past, grabs a jar of hazelnut spread off the shelf and prances down the aisle like she’s just revolutionized my entire thought process.
Nutella. Of course. It’s so much better than peanut butter.
The handles drop from my fingers again, and the basket clatters to the tile floor. I replace the jar of peanut butter on the shelf, exchanging it with the glorious jar of hazelnut spread.
Was there something else I needed? Of course, not. Nutella is everything I need.
I sprint toward the checkout. There’s nothing better than Nutella. How could I have believed anything different?
No more talking. No more questions. Mina will be so proud of me.
No doubt in my mind.
Can you guess which song inspired this story? (This month it could be any time period, any genre.) Share in the comments!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Well done, I feel his anguish.
Right?? Going to the grocery store for someone else is so stressful!!
So stressful! Lol The great debate!
This had me smiling throughout the entire story! Your voice fits the plot and main character perfectly. Very well-written!
Thank you so much!! I had a ton of fun writing it!
I’ve had days like this.
Me too! Lol!! Those days I wish I had some Nutella…..
Peanut Butter Jelly Time? Also, amazing story – love, love, LOVE!
Lolol! With a baseball bat?? Lol!
Good guess but try again!
This was GENIUS! ;D I loved it, well done!
Thank you!!
BAHAHAHA I love this!!! So clever and well-written. Honestly I feel this way every time my mom sends me to the store…
Me too!! It’s so stressful!
Loved this story. Too funny. (But not too far off the mark – just yesterday I sent my husband to buy Tomato Basil soup, I even specified the brand, and yet he still had to call me because there was also a Creamy Tomato Basil that threw him for a loop! ;-)
Haha! Yes!! This story may or may not be based on my dad and his seeming lack of ability to find things at the grocery store…. Lolol
I’m just picturing your dad going grocery shopping 😂
I feel the MCs pain! I go through this all the time with my wife. Great story!
Thank you!!