“Michael!” Erin called down the hall to her husband, who was busy putting away his purchases in another room.”Yeah?”
“Can you come in here?”
Michael sighed, put the new shoes down on the bed, and walked into the kitchen.
“Can you explain something to me?” she asked, her voice strained.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with all these avacados?”
Laid out on the table were Michael’s literal fruits of his shopping excursion. Twenty avacados.
“Well, I was in the store, and they were on sale, so I figured we could make up a bunch of guacamole and freeze it.”
“You don’t like guacamole.”
“And neither do I.”
“Nor do we have enough freezer space for this.”
“I have a plan though. See? We make up the guac using Ginny’s recipe, and then we start taking it to food competitions and sell it and give them a business card with their order. And then people will like it so much that they’ll go to the website and order more. Easy money!”
“Our . . . guacamole website?”
“Ooh! Guacaholy.com!” Michael exclaims then rushes out of the room.
Erin followed him back through the house to his computer room, where he was frantically typing to see if the address was available. The room was full of shopping bags and shipping boxes. There were collectible plates and boxes of old records. There were stacks of unread manuals on internet trends and marketing. The room was finely furnished by his expenditures, but you could barely see it through the memorabilia, manuals and unfinished projects.
“I think this could be the one.” Michael said absentmindedly as he clicked through the website options. “This one will work.”
Erin stared at him, knowing that tomorrow he probably wouldn’t get out of bed, and knowing she would have to find something else to do with those twenty avacados.