Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man

juice. Steak with pineapple juice—I can’t tell you which is
better to him. And when they turned down that aisle, the first
thing he put his hand on during that entire grocery store trip
was a bottle of pineapple juice. He didn’t think anything of it—
just grabbed a bottle and dropped it into the cart. She had her
back turned when he did it, but when she turned around and
saw the pineapple juice in there on the pile of groceries, she
snatched it out and said, “What is this?”
“Pineapple juice,” he said simply.
“And who put this pineapple juice in the basket?” she
asked.
“Well, I did,” he said, a little confused. Who else in the
world would have put a bottle of pineapple juice into their
cart?
“You,” she practically spit, “don’t have any money.”
And then she did the unthinkable: she took that bottle of
pineapple juice and purposely dropped it on the floor; it hit the
tile with the loudest crash, and broke into what looked like a
million little pieces of shiny glass shards and yellow liquid—all
of it just inches away from their feet. She glanced at it, then gave
him the eye, and pushed the grocery cart on—away from the
mess and him.
He walked out the store and waited for her; when she finally
came out, he loaded the groceries into the car with tears in his
eyes. You just can’t imagine how that hurt him. He knew he
didn’t have any money, but all he wanted was a damn bottle of