So there’s one grocery store in town (Fresh for those of you who live here) that has home-made (well Fresh-made) tortillas available. Often they’re still warm, ten or so wrapped in a bag in a big bin in the bakery department. (That last sentence was brought to you by the letter B.)
So, the other evening after work, I stopped by to pick some up to go with dinner, and when I got to the bin it was empty. (Insert annoyed face here).
I found the bakery worker person and inquired about the unfortunate emptiness of said bin and she told me they were sold out. (Insert, apparently, a really really sad face here.) I heaved a sigh, and said something like, “That’s the only reason I came all the way out here…” (this store is less than a mile from my house) and then asked her, pitifully, where the
crappy, prepackaged tortillas were.
She pointed me toward a nearby aisle, and I was wandering along it, listlessly, when suddenly the girl reappeared with a bag of tortillas in her hand.
“I was saving these to take home with me,” she said as she handed them to me. “But you can have them…”
So, I’m unpacking the grocery bag, telling this story to the hubster, and when I get to the part about how the young bakery worker found me on the bread aisle and handed me her bag of tortillas, his eyes widened.
“And you took them?” he asked.
“Well…” I look into the sack and see the tortillas lying there in the bottom, and realize that perhaps accepting them from the girl had been a little bit of a dick move. “Yeah…”
He just shook his head and started to laugh.
I am shameless.
In in the spirit of all things Mexican with some interspecies fun thrown in, I bring you this…