A Supermarket Love Story

I knew I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. Love at first sight is easy to identify. One sees it. Feels it. Lives in its blissful highs. Our love sparked a flame that releases warmth and magic into my daily life.

Not one for public displays of affection, you can imagine my surprise at my change in character when the first time we went grocery shopping together my hands found their way to one of your finest assets while we waited in line. The woman behind us smiled, seeming to know we were soon-to-be newlyweds.

We’d only known each other ten days on the night we said I do. A boldly romantic act like that could have backfired, but not on us. Our future together was outlined in the stars, illuminated by the moon.

Over the years I have fallen in love with you time and again. Sometimes it happens when I watch you move through your day – the smile and hello you have for anyone you encounter. Your deftness at handling moody people with turbulent personalities, myself included. The kind and gentle way you understand all, especially me.

Sometimes, when you’re pushing my grocery cart and I’m busy picking out the yellowest lemons in the produce department, I catch your eyes following me like a man in love. Your expression tells me you live for me and would die for me if needed. During these times I’m compelled to drop my lemons and dance with you up and down the supermarket aisles in a show of what love should be – something to be celebrated anytime, anywhere.  

There was another significant day at the grocery store when I fell in love with you a thousand times over. We pulled into the parking lot as a bitterly pessimistic song came on the radio. One of my favorites. One of our favorites, as it turned out. You commented on the love and beauty of the song. I thought you were joking. The foreboding melody could make a puppy howl the blues. The sardonic lyrics takes lovers down a journey of heartache through jealousy and betrayal, contributing to a broader warning about the state of the world. But you were serious, you only heard and understood the forgiving power of true love in the song.

“She’s awful to him,” I snapped, stunned that you couldn’t hear the singer’s anguish and hostility over his lover’s behavior.

“He loves her. Love forgives.”

“You’re naïve,” I crossed my arms, angered by your foolishness, “and too forgiving of bad behavior.” Grabbing my phone, I searched for proof. “See, you’re wrong.” I handed over the undisputable evidence posted all over the internet, forcing you to read it. “Everybody knows. This is not a love song.”

“It is to me,” you replied, translating the song to us. “If she were you and I were he, I’d forgive you. I’d understand. I’d love you all the same.” You put the phone down, took my hand, and looked into my eyes. “We’d get through it.”

As though the sun had just rose in the west, I sat there stunned. You changed the world as I knew it. What did I and my internet army of cynics know? Nothing. We knew nothing. Thank you, my supermarket main squeeze, for teaching me the true power of love. I am better for knowing and loving you.

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