Because Everyone Loves Salsa

It's true. I love salsa, you love salsa. But sometimes salsa can cause trouble. Or maybe I cause trouble for the salsa. I'll let you decide.

Very early Sunday morning, the big guy and I left St. Louis after a fantastic Mardi Gras weekend with friends. We left early because he had to work the booth at a trade show all day. Not easy after a long weekend, and definitely not fun when you're wife would rather have you home since it was Valentine's Day. But, when you have to work, you have to work. So he had a long day ahead of him.

I decided that I would surprise him with dinner. He knew I was going to cook, but I hadn't told him what the menu would be. I hadn't actually deicded yet, which made the secret easy to keep. I went to one of my favorite places to pick up ingredients, the Fresh Market. I found some wonderful food, as I always do there.

Appetizers: fresh sourdough bread, spinach and artichoke dip, raspberry and brie fillo puffs

Dinner: Ceasar salad, Italian stlye sauteed veggies, garlic and herb stuffed pork chops

Dessert: chocolate covered strawberries

Along with that, there was one surprise. Salsa. A single jar of this salsa made it's way into my basket.

How does that happen you might be wondering. Good question. Here's how.

I get into the checkout line. I'm waiting my turn. Then one of the associates opens up another line and offers to check out my items so I don't have to wait. I turn to get into the new line, and then everything happens in slow motion.

There's a display of salsa next to me. I'm clearly not paying enough attention. The corner of my basket bumps into the corner of the top display crate. Approximately 15 jars of salsa go plummeting to the floor. I try to catch them, and fail miserably. I should have paid more attention in gym class.

I'm left staring at the floor that I have singel-handedly managed to cover in delicious salsa. And I do mean COVERED. It's a mess. I'm a mess. And now I'm flustered.

The girl checks me out, and I pay for my items. By some act of compassion and charity, they don't make me buy all of the salsa I've destroyed. They could have, and I would have. They certainly can't sell it now. But they don't. They're more concerned that I might have been hurt by the jars. Just my pride and a little bruise on my ego, but thank you for asking.

I grab my bag and go to my car. I get home, I unpack and then I make this realization.

There's a rogue jar of salsa in with my dinner stuff. I saved one!

But I actually had two bags of groceries. I left one at the store.

So I drag my embarassed self back to the car, and drive back. It's just down the road, so not far. I sit in my car for a few minutes and debate going in. But since all I had at home was the salad, the bread, and some unplanned salsa, I go in. That would be nice, but not for Valentine's Day, not for the big guy.

I go in and say, "I think I left a bag of groceries when I left. I'm the girl who wrecked the salsa."

Grocery clerk, "Sure, I remember you."

Of course he does. How could he not?

They had to put my groceries back since one item was frozen and one was meat. Ok, no big deal. I'll go get more. But I don't get to go alone. Because I've already paid for them, the manager wants to make sure I'm not going to get charged again. Very considerate. So he walks through the store with me and we refill the bag I left behind.

I get home and we have a great dinner. But not with salsa.

My pride is still recovering.