They say opposites attract, and there must be some truth to this statement. J-Fed and I are two very, very different people. While I am a “play by the book” type of women, J-Fed maintains a “rules are meant to be broken” mentality. So you can only imagine how often we butt heads. I try to serve as a role model for the Fedster, but he’s only grown to resent me because of it.
I guess the most blatant example of this happened at a memorable trip to one of those warehouse stores where we have a membership. I usually make it a rule to never, ever bring J-Fed to these places. It was actually a couple of years before I even revealed to J-Fed that we were part of the club. And after a few visits to the club with J-Fed, I quickly realized why this was so. If it wasn’t nailed down, it went in our cart. I’d walk in with the intention of buying paper towels, toilet paper, a palate of Diet Cokes and a rotisserie chicken and he’d walk out with a new pressure cleaner, an “extra” generator and a new socket set.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it all,” he’d promise. Needless to say, J-Fed’s new toys would sit in the corner collecting dust, while I grew old waiting for the money to pay for his lofty expenditures.
Regardless, it was on one of these outings that I made the vow to never, ever shop with J-Fed again. Of course, it was all much ado over Frappuccinos, the drink that J-Fed lived and would surely die by. While most people enjoy a morning cup of coffee, J-Fed’s fuel was Frappuccinos, the little Starbucks coffee drinks available at just about any local convenience store. It wasn’t uncommon for J-Fed to drink two to three of these in a sitting… four to five times a day.
So it only made sense for us to stock up on Fraps when we made a warehouse run. But there was a little problem with this – Fraps were sold in bulk two ways. There was all Mocha, or there was the variety pack which had Vanilla, Mocha, Coffee and Caramel. It frustrated J-Fed to no end that they didn’t sell an all coffee palate. To him, it was an injustice.
That’s when J-Fed decided to take matters into his own hands. As we stood there, he began unloading the palates and swapping out the flavors he didn’t like for the flavors he did like. My jaw hit the ground as I watched him attempt to make his own palate chock full of coffee drinks. Um J-Fed, last time I checked, shopping wasn’t like a buffet. You didn’t have the opportunity to choose what you like and leave the rest behind.
“Stop!!! What are you doing? We’re going to get in trouble,” I shrieked in horror.
“What are you talking about? Quit overreacting. People do this all of the time,” he said nonchalantly, continuing about his business. It would have been a different story if he had donned a ski mask and had an escape plan, but here he was breaking a cardinal shopping law in broad daylight.
Paranoia had set in. I pictured us being dragged up by security and our pictures being posted on the warehouse hall of shame. I mean, I never even took a piece of Brach’s candy out of the little stand without depositing my five cents. Without another thought, I grabbed the cart and began hauling ass at warp speed.
“Come backkkkkkkkk. Wherrrrrreeeee are youuuuuuuuuu goingggggggggg?” J-Fed’s booming voice was a distant cry as I got as far away from him as possible. I refused to dirty my hands. By the time J-Fed caught up with me, I was wheeling the cart out of the warehouse. There he stood empty-handed with a big frown on his face.
“You’re such a prude. It’s unbelievable. They don’t care if you make your own Frappuccino mix as long as you take 16 of them. Ask anyone,” he pouted all the way to the car.
I didn’t have to ask anyone. Do you know why? Because about a month later, as I idled through the drink aisle on my solo mission, I noticed that a new sign had appeared over every palate of beverages “Do not mix and match drinks. Packages are to be sold ‘as is.’”
Now, I know I had taken a moral high ground with J-Fed. But I couldn’t help but rip down one of the signs and save it for prosperity. That very night, I smiled victoriously from ear to ear as I posted the sign on our refrigerator as a constant reminder to J-Fed that once again I was right and he was wrong.