Some couples go on dinner dates.
We went to the grocery store because she saw a coupon.
“This counts as romance,” she said, pushing the cart with her foot like a child on a scooter.
I wasn’t convinced. “It’s fluorescent lighting and crying toddlers.”
“But they’re playing love songs in aisle four. That’s ambiance!”
—
It was supposed to be a quick trip.
But then she saw the “Buy 2, Get 1 Free” sticker on ice cream and insisted we stock up “for the emotional winter.”
We were still in the frozen aisle twenty minutes later.
She had three tubs of ice cream, two bags of dumplings, and one questionable-looking pack of mochi.
“This one has a bunny on it,” she said. “It’s destiny.”
“Destiny might give you food poisoning.”
She gasped. “How dare you question the bunny!”
—
Then came the samples.
She tried everything.
Twice.
She called it “doing research.”
She even reviewed them out loud like a food critic.
> “Mmm, this cheese tastes like betrayal with a hint of hope.”
> “This juice tastes like summer had an identity crisis.”
The sample guy looked traumatized.
—
Somewhere between the bread aisle and a small war over which brand of peanut butter was superior (we’re still divided), she disappeared.
One second she was behind me, the next—gone.
I called her phone. No answer.
I checked the snack aisle. The home goods section. The pet food aisle (we don’t even have a pet).
Finally, I found her standing in front of the bakery display, holding a single donut like it was a newborn child.
“They just restocked,” she whispered.
—
We checked out with an overflowing cart, half of which I’m still convinced we didn’t need.
As we walked out, the alarm suddenly went off.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Everyone turned.
I froze.
She looked at me, eyes wide. “It wasn’t me this time.”
A manager walked over. “Did you scan everything?”
We both nodded.
They checked our receipt.
Turned out, one of the free dumpling packs wasn’t scanned because it stuck to the bottom of the cart.
I stared at her. “Your emotional winter dumplings almost got us arrested.”
She grinned. “That’s what I call a spicy romance.”
—
On the way home, she fed me mochi in the car while singing along to the radio.
I didn’t tell her it was off-key.
And even with a near theft charge, a donut obsession, and thirty minutes of peanut butter politics…
It still felt like one of our best dates.
—
To be continued…
