Sorry, grocery store stranger.

Didn’t mean to get all existential on you yesterday when I mistook you for the manfriend and shimmied up to you in front of the balsamic vinaigrette and the blue cheese and asked—maybe with a tone—”what are we here for?” It’s just that we—me and manfriend, not me and you—needed horseradish, which is obviously not in the salad dressing section, and we had already discussed salad dressing and having enough of it in the fridge that we didn’t need to buy more. So I asked “what are we here for?” with familiarity and maybe slight annoyance—I couldn’t find the McCormick’s spices I wanted, remember? It had nothing to do with you—and I was so delighted when you looked at me and solemnly responded “I was wondering that myself.” It was perfect, and when we both realized I thought I was talking to someone else, I wanted to laugh about it together and have a grocery store moment, but down the aisle you went, so quickly that you forgot your ranch dressing.

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