You must really like muffins.

So I went to the grocery store while I was hungry. I know, I know- it was a recipe for disaster, but I did it anyway. And I bought 10 packages of muffin mix.

TEN DIFFERENT MUFFIN MIXES.

TEN.

So I’m creeping around the aisles, covering up the mixes in my cart with healthy things like a head of lettuce, some bananas, a package of spinach. So far so good- I haven’t run into anyone I know while harboring the paraphernalia. Just gotta grab dog food aaaand….. drat. I have too many items for the self-checkout lane. (Damn muffins…) Okay, fine. It’s fine. I’ll just go to an aisle where the checkout person is a sweet old lady or an untalkative middle-aged man.

But, lo and behold, none of these stereotypes are working today. NoooOOooOOOooooo…..I’m stuck with just two options: (1.) sullen-bleach-blonde Britney or (2.) shouldn’t-you-be-in-school-right-now Andy. On top of this, I don’t even get to make a decision…. “Hey, Miss! Hey, Ma’am…er…Miss, I can get you over on Four!”

Andy can’t be more than 22, but since this is my story and I make the rules, he’s 15. He’s all excited politeness and thumbs as he scans my ValuCard and starts to unload my cart. Item by item, he gets closer to the muffins… Lettuce…beep….spaghetti….beep….spinach….beep…. At this point, I’m fiddling with my wallet under the guise of trying to get the appropriate cash out. Andy’s humming a little nonsense tune to himself, smiling at me, trying to catch my eye, when suddenly I hear his clear voice ring out over the beeping.

“WOW, you must really like muffins!”

I look up. I can feel the blush burning my cheeks. And you know what comes out of my mouth?

“Yeah, they’re pretty good for eating.”

They.

Are.

Pretty.

Good.

For.

Eating.

………

I am a writer, and CLEARLY I shouldn’t be allowed out in public without a chaperone.

(That’s really all I can say on the subject since I need both hands to eat away the shame, but on a happier note-THESE MUFFINS ARE DELICIOUS.)

-Sarah