The Popsicle incident

Our heroine entered the garage, a slight frown marring her features. "We are out of popsicles," she announced to her platinum-blond husband.

A look of concern mixed with amusement crossed his handsome features. 'Do you want me to run to the store to get more?"

She considered his offer. Popsicles were silly enough in January, without a special trip to the grocery store in search of them. Still, they were out. "Do you know what kind to get?"

"No."

She sighed. Apparently he had already forgotten her monologue only a few days before regarding her excitement at seeing these particular popsicles and memories of the same ones from her childhood had been a waste of breath. "No, you don't have to do that." He would probably buy the wrong ones anyway, and she didn't want a repeat of the onion roll incident. She kissed him on the cheek and went back inside the house, visions of cherry-pineapple childhood popsicles dancing in her head. She would have to stop by the grocery store on the way home from work.