:::collective screams of horror:::
Husband, with wrinkled up mustache, staring at jar in disgust: "I will say it again. I only like jelly."
Me: "ugh...it's all the same! Can't you just eat it?"
Husband, with severely askew mustache: "yeeeeeeesssssss...but I only like JELLY on my SANDWICHES!"
Me: "but you're eating toast right now. I mean seriously, I can't be expected to pay that much attention to it. (Husband interrupting me by pointing to how the label has "JAM" highlighted in yellow)...I grab what I grab. (me, extending arm straight out, pinching fingers together)...I don't reach up, I don't reach down, you get what you get."
Husband: "no, I only want JELLY"
...pause...
Me: "okay, now you're being a Diva"
:::look of shock from 6' tall, 265lb truck driver husband with thick goatee and mustache, bear paw hands, and shaved head:::
"I'm a what?"
"oooooooh I think you heard me..."
It wasn't that it was on sale, or that it's my personal choice of smearable fruit, or that I have a deeply rooted loyalty to jam. It's simply that...those items are in the final aisle of the grocery store. By the time I get there? MS is having a play date. I'm exhausted, using my cart as a walking aide, sometimes swaying, and usually seeing double. I buy what I can stick my arm straight out and grab. And obviously? That's jam.
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