I don’t know how Will compares to other kids his age, but sweet Jesus does this boy drink a shitload of milk.
It’s all he drinks. He wants nothing else and as a result we have to go to the store 2-3 times a week to buy additional gallons of whole milk. Sometimes I go get it, but I have a tendency to “forget” to buy the milk when I pick Will up from daycare. Funny how that works, huh? So it’s usually up to MJ to grab some on her way home.
Well, we were all out together on Friday and — surprise, surprise — we needed more milk. So we hit up the Tedeschi’s convenience store a mile from our house. I put the car in park and unbuckled my seat belt, but MJ said she’d go in and get it. Not wanting to pass up an opportunity to sit on my ass and be lazy, I happily obliged.
When she came out a couple of minutes later she had a goofy grin on her face. It was a smile hardly reminiscent of a run of the mill milk run. It was a suspicious smile.
“What’s up?” I asked as she got back in the car.
“Nothing, why?” she said as she buckled herself in.
“You’re grinning like a fool. Did something funny happen in there?”
“No. I was just chatting with my Tedeschi’s guy.”
I stomped on the brake and put the car back into park as I glared at her and asked her just what the hell she was talking about. “Her” Tedeschi’s guy? What was going on here??
She went on to describe their relationship in full detail. Because she was always in need of milk and Tedeschi’s is the closest store, she became a frequent customer. And Mr. Wonderful is a young guy who works a ton of hours behind the counter, and he soon began to recognize her from her repeated milk purchases. From that point on they were milk buddies, exchanging hellos and adulterous pleasantries while he rings her up.
I felt violated.
On this particular occasion, she told me Capt. Counter Jockey expressed his surprise about her coming in during the afternoon instead of after work. Great, I thought to myself. He knows her friggin schedule. Then he joked that it would just be cheaper to buy a cow instead of repeatedly coming back for more and more milk.
“I hope his second job isn’t as a stand-up comedian,” I blurted out.
“Wooooow. Are you jealous of MY Tedeschi’s guy?” she teased.
“Me? No. I’m not jealous. Especially of him. What the hell do I have to be jealous about? He’s just a kid and he’s selling scratch tickets to old ladies all day.”
“Well, he’s young, good looking and even he probably makes more than you do.” she said with a snarky grin.
Damn her. My wife knows what gets under my skin and even though she doesn’t succeed often, when she does she makes sure to twist the knife. And she was so enjoying herself this time around. She knows my imagination runs wild and right then I was picturing the two of them having some steamy affair. She asks him if there’s any milk in the back with better expiration dates and he winks at her and says he has to go in back and check it out. Then the two of them go at it passionately enough to make the cows on the gallons of Garelick Farms blush.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she says, breaking me out of my nightmare. “It’s MILK for our SON and I’d be more than happy to have you go to the store instead.”
Yikes. Suddenly it was either send my wife to the store at the risk of losing her to a studly young convenience store clerk, or be responsible for picking up the milk myself several times a week.
“Just make sure the two of you grab some condoms while you’re at it,” I said, as she smacked me.
Maybe we’ll switch to juice.