Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug Need Cheese
Mr. Other Pug was standing in front of the refrigerator, staring in.
“Shut the door,” said Mr. Pug. “You’re letting out all the cold air.”
“I want some cheese,” said Mr. Other Pug. “There’s just Velveeta.”
“Jeez! Please don’t eat the Velveeta again,” said Mr. Pug. “You know it binds you up.”
Mr. Other Pug didn’t move. He just stared blankly into the cold refrigerator.
“Maybe,” said Mr. Pug “we need to make a trip to the grocery.”
Before Mr. Pug could even finish the thought, Mr. Other Pug had thrown on his scarf and hat and was waiting on the back porch.
“C’mon!,” he said. “Cheese awaits.”
They grabbed a cab at the corner.
“To the market please,” said Mr. Pug.
“And hurry,” added Mr. Other Pug.
Within minutes they arrived in front of the huge Super Duper Mega Market.
“Keep the meter running. We’ll be right out,” said Mr. Pug.
Mr. Other Pug raced inside. Behind him Mr. Pug got distracted and ran back and forth along the mat that automatically opened and closed the door. Back and forth, open and close.
“Cheese,” yelled Mr. Other Pug from inside the brightly lit store.
Mr. Pug snapped out of it and caught up to Mr. Other Pug and the pair zig-zagged through the vegetable section and past the coffee selection bypassing the chips & salsa and took a shortcut through the Latino specialty aisle and around the freezer compartments until they arrived at a mountain of cow, sheep and goat cheeses. And not a Velveeta in sight. This was the real thing. Mr. Other Pug was mesmerized.
“I’ll get a cart,” offered Mr. Pug, running back towards the parking lot. There he grabbed the only cart he could find, a poor excuse with one wheel tilted askew which shook violently as Mr. Pug pushed and tried to steer it back to the entrance.
But once again he again got distracted. He stepped on the mat; then stepped off. On and off, open and close. Open and close, on and off.
“Cart,” shouted Mr. Other Pug from across the supermarket. He was beginning to sweat. The smell Colby and Gouda and Gorgonzola and Roquefort and Camembert and Stilton and Parmesan blended together into an intoxicatingly fragrant perfume of curdled milk chunks. Then he noticed the Cheddar. It was all too much. Mr. Other Pug grabbed the complimentary toothpicks and jabbed at the little orange cubes.
“I’ll just have a lick,” he said to no one in particular.
Meanwhile, Mr. Pug pushed the sticky wheeled cart through the vegetable section and past the coffee selection bypassing the chips & salsa before taking a shortcut through the Latino specialty aisle and around the freezer compartments. And just before he got to the cheese counter he spied Mr. Other Pug, leaning against as end-aisle display, a hunk of limburger in his left hand, semi-soft ricotta in his right. His friend was so full of cheddar you could almost see the little cubes protruding from his belly.
Mr. Other Pug looked up. “I couldn’t resist,” he said.
Back in the cab, Mr. Pug directed the driver to take them home. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he sniffed the air.
“Seriously?” he asked, sliding across the back seat as far away from Mr. Other Pug as possible.
“The one who smelt it dealt it,” said Mr. Other Pug as he smiled and rolled down the window.