O-r-e-go!

“And buy me some Oreos,” my husband says.

“Already on the list,” I reply. “See.” I point to the ad. “They’re on sale this week.”

It’s Sunday morning. Philip and I will be heading to the grocery store in a few minutes for our weekly trip. I’m taking one last look at the ad to see if I need to add any items to my list.

The list is scant. As part of my efforts to eat healthier in general and to reduce sodium as directed by my doctor, I have been writing up weekly meal plans. I discovered that I was wasted less food and didn’t feel as rushed in the mornings if I knew what I was going to have for breakfast, lunch and dinner each day. For no good reason, I forgot to write my plan for the week. Now I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out what sounds good for Thursday.

Um, ordering pizza?

I decide to wing it.

Mmm. Maybe Buffalo wings?

Never mind.

Philip and I go to the store. Just inside the entrance is a huge display of Oreos: cookies with Double Stuf, Mega Stuf, Birthday Cake and other kinds of filling. I decide it will be easier to pick up our packages in the cookie aisle once we have a cart.

We go about our shopping. I figure the list is so short that there’s no reason to refer to it; it stays unconsulted in my bag.

It’s not until mid-afternoon, when Peter is mumbling, “What can I munch on?” that I realize it:

I FORGOT TO BUY THE OREOS!

That’s why Philip and I are cruising the aisles of the grocery store at 7:40 pm on a Monday. Once again I skip the Oreo display at the entrance since Peter prefers the original style. I get a cart for Phililp to push even though we are only buying the cookies, hummus and cream cheese. We go up and down every aisle.

Every once in a while I say to Philip, “We have to go get cookies.”

Before we left for the store, I was trying to get Philip ready to leave while he played upstairs in his room. I urged him, “Come on, Philip. It’s time to go get cookies.” I was shocked to hear Philip respond, “Go get gookies.”

!

Not sure if I’m hallucinating, I repeat the phrase. Philip says, “Go get, go get.”

I take Philip downstairs to Peter.

“Listen to this,” I urge Peter.

“Hey, Philip. Are you ready to go get cookies?”

“Go get, go get gookies!”

I delight in hearing Philip repeat the words in the store. Plus, I’m having a nice time cruising the aisles. There are only a handful of other shoppers, so they are clear for Philip to push as quickly or slowly as he desires. And, frankly, I’m not a big fan of crowds. I like feeling as if we have the place to ourselves.

We finally make it to the snack and cookie aisle. Oreos are near the one end.

Or they should be.

I find fudged-covered Oreos, Oreos with chocolate cream and peanut butter filling, and golden Oreos of the traditional, birthday cake, double and mega “stuf” variety. I even find the Oreos that are half chocolate cookie and half vanilla.

There are no regular Oreos.

Okay, I tell myself. Don’t panic. Even though you had ample opportunity to get cookies when you were in the store LESS THAN 48 HOURS AGO, you have to let that go. Think. What would Peter choose?

I’m staring at the displays as if sheer force of desire will conjure up a package.

And then it does.

There, stashed on it’s end beside a fudge-covered coconut cream package of Oreos is the LAST PACK OF REGULAR OREOS IN THE ENTIRE STORE!

“Yay!” I cheer at Philip. “We got cookies!”

“Go get, go get,” Philip answers.

Because the special is for two packs, I grab one of Double Stuf, and then Philip and I walk the remaining aisles.

As we are checking out, Philip is babbling up a storm. He is improvising a song until he becomes fascinating with the screws on the conveyor belt. He continues to talk as he pokes each one.

He picks up a new song as we put our cart away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he sings. I sing it back to him as we fight against the wind to make it to our car.

We arrive home, and I triumphantly produce the pack of Oreos.

“It was the last one in the store,” I tell Peter.

“Thanks, dear,” he says and takes his cookies to the recliner. Philip eyes the bag.

“Do you want a cookie?” I ask him.

“Gookie,” he replies.

And that’s how Philip came to be eating a Double Stuf Oreo on Monday night. Because he asked for it.

oreo 004

 

 

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