Gary ducked behind a cereal box as Brenda’s neon pink sneakers screeched past his aisle. He’d sworn off grocery shopping after their breakup, but here he was, dodging her like a caffeinated tornado.
“I’m not running from you! I’m just… optimizing my route!” Gary hissed to a display of kale, which rustled ominously.
Brenda materialized beside him, clutching a bag of mixed greens like it was a stolen heirloom. “You left me with a fridge full of expired ranch dressing, Gary. This is retribution.”
“That was a *mystery* meat sandwich!” he protested, as she yanked a jar of balsamic vinegar from the shelf.
She turned, eyes blazing, and accidentally launched a bag of truffle chips into the produce section. “You think this is about food? I’m building a salad so epic, it’ll make your ex’s lasagna weep.”
Gary’s phone buzzed. It was his mom: “Your dad’s trying to reenact *The Godfather* with a zucchini. Again.”
Brenda paused, mid-sentence, as a rogue avocado rolled toward her feet. “…Wait, is that a *cucumber*?” she whispered, suddenly serene.
Gary seized the moment, sprinting past the dairy aisle until he撞ed into a display of organic hummus. The jar exploded.
Later, Brenda would claim it was a “strategic diversion.” Gary would insist it was karma. Both agreed the salad they共建ed in the parking lot was… *unforgettable*.
