In our neighborhood, the coyotes keep the cottontail rabbits in check. Lately, though, the coyotes are slacking, and the rabbits are everywhere, especially in the morning when Annette and I take our walk.

We joked yesterday as six rabbits darted for the hills that I should dig out my rusty pellet gun and get to work. I said I’d think about it if she’d cook a rabbit stew with a rich broth of potatoes.

And that’s when we both turned and saw it—a full bag of Trader Joes Red Spring Potatoes sitting plain as day in the gutter. We looked at each other incongruously, then looked over our shoulder thinking someone might be playing a joke on us, then up into the sky as if the bag had fallen from a cloud. How could it have wound up here in the gutter we wondered?

A Bag Of Red Spring Potoates

Here’s what I think happened:

A single man, recently divorced, and a single woman, who recently lost her husband, were shopping at Trader Joes the day before. They bumped into each other, literally, in the produce section, near the potato bins. They both apologized for being distracted and began a tentative conversation.

She talked of potatoes as she reached for a bag of red spring potatoes. He placed it in her cart for her. Red spring potatoes, she said, were her favorite and great for German potato salad, a specialty of hers. He said his mother used to make potato salad when he went on picnics. He tossed a bag in his own cart.

This led to questions of where they grew up, went to college, what they did now, etc. Their conversation flourished over a mini-cup of Trader Joes coffee. He took cream and sugar, she liked hers black. Their smiles deepened and their comfort in each other’s company grew quickly. They checked-out together and continued their conversation in the parking lot.

As cars panted for their parking spaces, she asked where he lived. When he told her, she giggled…they were almost neighbors. She asked if he would like to come back to her house for lunch of poached salmon and German potato salad leftover from Mother’s Day. He nodded and asked if she preferred a dry Pinot Grigio or a fruity Sauvignon Blanc. She liked both. He bought two bottles.

The lunch was wonderful, the food tastefully served, the wine delicious…and her kisses were delicate at first, quickly becoming impassioned as they fumbled with her cream-colored camisole and fell backwards onto the open bed.

Later, when he drove home, he whispered her name a few times under his breath and thanked the stars above for bumping into her in front of the potato bins. As he tossed his sack of potatoes out the window into the gutter, he knew she’d forgive his white lie about liking potatoes. In truth, he hadn’t eaten potatoes since he was a kid when his mother forced him to. He hated them, in fact, whether scalloped, mashed, or roasted, but especially in potato salad.


4 Responses to A Bag Of Potatoes

  1. fz says:

    How about you write the next chapter?

  2. I liked the story but wonder what happened to the potatoes, and the budding romance. I want more!

  3. Lea says:

    Great story!! Pulled me in immediately, and made me smile!

    • fz says:

      Thanks for reading, Lea. Sorry for the terribly late reply, but I just figured out how to read/respond to comments. I hope you’re still enjoying my posts. Cheers, fz

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