Sometimes I think it would be so nice to be part of a couple right now. Then I walk by the pudding display.
Saturday afternoon in a supermarket. A 30-something pair, she petite in cotton jersey, he arm-slinged from an injury, stand face to face in the supermarket dairy aisle. In her upraised hand, she proffers a six-pack of Jello brand pudding. Her eyebrows furrow like praying hands as she pleads, "C'mon, you don't have to eat it."
He shakes his head "no." She cajoles. He stands firm. She sets down the package and picks it up again. He remains unmoved. For five minutes they are frozen in the refrigerated section.
I observe all this while trying to locate my preferred yogurt across the aisle. Part of me wants to turn to them and shout, "Let her buy the friggin' pudding, for Pete's sake! It's a $3.39 investment and it's obvious that her weight is not a concern. Do this for the one you love. The one who is probably babying you over your broken arm. The one who folds your boxers. The one who ignores your toothpaste smudges in the sink. In the name of all that is good and generous, LET HER GET HER GOD-DAMNED BILL COSBY CHILLED DESSERT ON!"
Instead, I just kept staring at the six-feet-wide selection of yogurt thanking my lucky stars I could buy as much swirled, vanilla, chocolate, butterscotch, friggin' ass pudding as my single self wanted.