we were eating mexican food, and given my piqued interest in you, i was trying to daintily eat tortilla chips instead of shoving them all in my mouth at once. you know, so you’d think i was a lady with self control, and not someone who considered a few chips of this variety a slippery slope to accidentally consuming one million.
we chatted in the darkest corner of the restaurant, our table dimly lit from a neon bulb above, and somewhat out of reach from the pillars of natural light streaming in from the open air patio. it was one of those brunch situations, so the place was noisy with young professionals taking respite in bottomless mimosas for the afternoon.
we rifled through humorous questions for each other, exposed our most embarrassing moments- i even shared photos of my family. you told me about your five must-buys at the grocery store; how you only buy orange juice with added vitamin c.
afterwards, we went to the grocery store, and i hate to admit that i couldn’t help but wonder if all the other people in the dairy aisle thought we were a happy couple, on yet another routine shopping trip for groceries and deciding which type of trendy alternative milk to buy. maybe you pushed the cart?
a few weeks ago i found myself at the grocery store looking at the orange juice. as my eyes glanced across the sea of varieties, they caught the words ADDED VITAMIN C, which reminded me of you, and led me to stand in the aisle for far too long, trying to shake whatever nostalgia crept up on me while billows of freezer air seeped out from the door i’d left ajar.
and i told myself i wouldn’t text you, but i did. and it really doesn’t matter, but i guess you could say that i wish i would have just skipped the orange juice aisle and bought tortilla chips instead.