Two bags of chips find their way into the basket. I cast a challenging look at Bee, who is smiling sweetly, as though that will make up for the abomination she’s selected. How someone so delectable can favor sour cream is unfathomable to me. “No.” I take them out. She returns them. “Yes.” Oh, she thinks she’s clever. “Bee.” “Yes, dear?” Goddamn. I can’t throw her up against the shelves, but I really fucking want to.
