My Dinner With Shimmer

by Posh

2. Bon Mot

When Wallflower Blush gazed into the loaf of bread, wrapped in white plastic and spotted with polka dots, the loaf gazed back. Except it had dozens of eyes, red and blue and yellow, and she only had the two. And hers were brown.

"This staring contest was lost before it even began." Wallflower sighed. "I concede, Wonderbread. You win."

She squeezed the bag, forming a crease in the plastic that looked like a crooked, mocking grin. That made her frown and squeeze harder, which only made the grin wider.

"You don't gotta rub it in, Wonderbread." Wallflower paused, then repeated the word: "Wonderbread. Wonderbread." It was a fun word – felt good to say. So she kept on saying it, giving the bread a squish and a squeeze each time. "Wonderbread. Wonnnnnderbread. Wonder—"

"You gonna buy that bread, Wally?"

Panic shot through Wallflower. She whirled, taking care to hide the loaf behind her back, and rattled off a hasty stream of excuses.

"WHATBREADTHERESNOBREADBREADISNTREALYOURECRAZY—"

She only came up to chest height on her intruder, and had to crane her neck to look them in the eye. She was met with green eyes, greener locks, and a bemused expression.

Immediately, she relaxed. "Oh. It's just you, Wallybread."

"Sandalwood."

"S'what I said." Wallflower removed the bread from behind her back, and tucked a hank of hair behind her ear. "Whaddaya want?"

"For you to stop squishing the bread." Sandalwood folded his arms. "You wanna squish the bread, you gotta buy it first – then you can take it home, and squish it all you want. But if you're not gonna buy it, you can't squish it. Those are the rules."

"What're you, the bread police?"

"I mean, technically." Sandalwood tapped the nametag on his apron, two items which Wallflower just now noticed he was wearing. "We're not supposed to let people screw around with the merchandise. Sorry."

Wallflower regarded the loaf, bouncing it lightly in her hands. She wasn't particularly attached to it, or to the idea of squishing it, but on principle, she was bothered.

"C'mon, man," she whined. "It's one loaf of bread – you can't give me a break? How far back do we go?"

"Don't use the Gardening Club against me, Wally. High school was a long time ago."

So much for loyalty. Now really annoyed, Wallflower puffed up her cheeks and glared at him.

Sandalwood, in response, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger. I don't make the rules."

"Oh yeah, Obergruppenfuhrer Sandalwood? You're just following orders to oppress the marginalized?" Wallflower gave the bread one last, lingering look, replaced it on the shelf, then corrected herself. "Margarine-alized."

Sandalwood rolled his eyes. "Yeah, there I go again, being an asshole by enforcing our oppressive store policies. Like 'don't damage the merchandise,' or 'don't flush an entire Fruit-By-The-Foot down the toilet just to see if it unspools.' It doesn't, by the way."

He turned to leave.

Fearing she'd actually hurt his feelings, Wallflower nabbed his wrist before he could leave and pulled him to a stop.

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Wait. Sorry. I wasn't – I mean, I'm just – I'm kinda nervous right now. Maybe I said some stuff that sounded funny in my head, and wasn't really that funny out loud." She paused, then added, "Also, I should've said 'O-bread-gruppenfuhrer.' So you knew I was being silly."

Sandalwood rolled his jaw a little, then shrugged. "'Margarine-alized' was kinda funny. I'm just havin' a day, that's all. Sorry for biting your head off. What's on your mind?"

"Ah, well..." Wallflower fidgeted, knocking her heels together self-consciously. "It's, you know. Like – you kiss girls sometimes, right?"

Sandalwood fidgeted too, scratching his beard. "Um, yeah, a little. Here and there. Why?"

"Well, I, uh, I have this friend. Her name's..." Wallflower gave her hands a mighty squeeze. "Sad Green Bitches. And she has this other friend who she's into – like, as a kissing friend? So, my friend is having dinner at this other friend's place—"

"Jesus, Wally. 'I have a friend who has a friend?' Really?"

"What? I have friends! And they have their own friends too. Are you saying I don't have friends or that my friends don't have friends? That's not very friendly of you."

"No, I'm just saying—" Palming his forehead and rubbing his temples, Sandalwood sighed. "Whatever. Your friend has a friend that she wants to kiss?"

"They're pretty well past kissing, actually." She paused to linger on some choice memories, squeaked, and shook her head to clear them away. "But it's still, like, brand new. And she doesn't wanna screw it up. And she's having dinner at her kissing friend's place and wants to make a good impression. So..."

She gave her hands one last squeeze together, unlaced them, and tapped her index fingers together.

"If she were gonna go to the grocery store to find something to bring to dinner... what do you think she should get?"

Sandalwood gave her a long look. "And your part in this is...?"

"Scouting. The grocery store. For suggestions."

"...For Sad Green Bitches."

"For Sad Green Bitches, yes."

"Hm." Sandalwood's eyes narrowed. He glanced past Wallflower, at the bread shelf behind her. "Well, I wouldn't bring Wonderbread, I'll tell you that much."

"I wasn't gonna! I mean she wasn't— I mean, I wasn't gonna recommend that she bring Wonderbread to—" Cringing, Wallflower took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I was passing by and got distracted. That's all."

"Distracted by the Wonderbread. Yeah, who hasn't been there?" Sandalwood winked – Why did he wink? "In all seriousness, wine's a traditional gift. I assume that's off the table, though."

Wallflower stuck out her tongue and blech'd.

"Thought not. Grape juice? My mom says it's like wine, but for Mormons. Oh!" Sandalwood spread his fingers and traced a rainbow in the air with his hands. "Sparkling cider. That's wine, but for children."

Mormon children. "Seems kinda juvenile."

Sandalwood's face fell, and he dropped his hands to his side, collapsing his rainbow. "Well then, here's a crazy idea: Just ask her what you should bring."

"Sad Green Bitches could ask, you mean. And no." Wallflower glanced down at her feet. "She wants to surprise the girl."

"Ah. We're trying to be all romantic, and stuff." Sandalwood cupped his chin, nodding. "Well, okay. Let's brainstorm."

The music filtering through the store cut off; the speakers crackled, and a tinny voice spoke. "Sandalwood to check-out. Sandalwood to check-out."

"Or maybe let's not," sighed Sandalwood. "Stupid midweek rush."

He backed away from the bread aisle; Wallflower, agog, watched him go.

"Wh— hey! You can't just abandon me like this!!"

"Actually, yeah, I can. And I sorta have to. You don't sign my checks, homegirl." He paused, mid-backstep, and smiled. "Look, you want some advice? Don't sweat so much over what to bring. Just grab whatever. It's the thought that counts, right?"

With that, he turned, and jogged lightly away toward the check-out lanes. Wallflower watched him go, folding her arms and wringing them – a little more gently this time.

"Just grab whatever, and it's the thought that counts," she muttered, with a glance at the bread shelf. "As long as it's not Wonderbread."

Thus inspired, she wandered away.

"Wonnnnderbread. Wonnnnnnderbread."

It really was a fun word to say.

---

She reunited with Sandalwood at his check-out lane a few minutes later, a basket full of sundries under her arm. He gave her a knowing look and a smirk, but his expression shifted into confusion as he scanned the items, one after the other.

"You took my advice rather literally, I think," he muttered as he worked.

Wallflower couldn't think of anything to say by way of explanation, nor did she really feel the need to explain herself to the O-bread-gruppenfuhrer who abandoned her in her hour of need. She eyed the impulse-buying rack while Sandalwood worked, contemplated some breath mints, and skimmed the cover of a trashy tabloid boasting pictures of a congresswoman's illicit underground chimpanzee knife-fighting ring.

Sandalwood scanned one last item. He held it up and raised an eyebrow at her.

"She have a cat, or something?"

"No, I do. That one's for me. She has a lizard."

"Hm." Sandalwood stuffed Wallflower's purchases into a bag and muttered something under his breath.

Wallflower stared at him. "I'm Sad Green Bitches, by the way.”

"Yeah, I know, Wally." Sandalwood cringed as he stuffed the cat food into Wallflower's shopping bag. "Could you try saying that a little louder? I don't think the entire store heard you."

Self-conscious, Wallflower looked over her shoulder. An older woman in yoga pants, her shopping cart laden with boxed wine and sugar-free yogurt, glared at her while covering the ears of a grinning, giggling, gap-toothed little girl.

Smiling sheepishly, Wallflower waggled her fingers at the woman in apology. She returned her attention to Sandalwood as he tallied up her purchases and applied Wallflower's rewards club discount to her bill. She pulled a few bucks from her sunflower-bedecked wallet – her Wallyt – and handed them to Sandalwood, who regarded her warmly as he took them.

"Can I give you one last bit of advice?" he said.

Wallflower nodded – two vigorous pumps of her head, the second one tweaking something in the back of her neck. She winced, rubbed it, and gave a final tiny nod.

"You gotta get outside your own head – don't psych yourself out." He pulled a handful of bills and coins from the till and dropped them into Wallflower's open hands. "Trust that she's gonna like whatever you give her."

"Even chlamydia?" Wallflower pocketed the money, then hastily added, "Not that I have—"

Sandalwood's expression hardened, eyes narrowing.

Eeping submissively, Wallflower grabbed her bag, and hurried out of the aisle. She paused, mid-step, with a final question.

"Is it too late to ask for your employee discount?"

"Go eat your fucking dinner, Wallflower."

As Wallflower hurried out the door to eat her fucking dinner, she heard the opening notes of the wine mom castigating Sandalwood for his foul language, and the giggles of the gap-toothed girl growing into guffaws. Remorse panged in her tummy, and she resolved to do something nice for him later, by way of apology and gratitude.

Maybe I'll bring him Wonderbread.

...

Wonnnnnderbread.

Comments

[Scampy]

"This staring contest was lost before it even began." Wallflower sighed. "I concede, Wonderbread. You win."

God she's such a fucking dork, I love her

Sad Green Bitches has been her go-to alter ego for the better part of 15 years, ever since she was interrogated about shoplifting sweet tarts from the gas station.

"Thought not. Grape juice? My mom says it's like wine, but for Mormons. Oh!" Sandalwood spread his fingers and traced a rainbow in the air with his hands. "Sparkling cider. That's wine, but for children."

Mormon children. "Seems kinda juvenile."

As someone who hates alcohol in all its forms, I love this and I'm going to steal it.

skimmed the cover of a trashy tabloid boasting pictures of a congresswoman's illicit underground chimpanzee knife-fighting ring.

I bet it was that crazy bitch from Colorado.

Eeping submissively,

I do this sometimes!

This was a fun chapter. You really maxed out her total-fucking-dork stat, even past the hard cap at 80, which I enjoy greatly.

[Gay For Gadot]

Okay, Wallflower is somehow even dorkier than the previous chapter. I love it. And now I have a strange craving for Wonderbread, even though I'm fairly certain I've never actually eaten any.

"You wanna squish the bread, you gotta buy it first – then you can take it home, and squish it all you want. But if you're not gonna buy it, you can't squish it. Those are the rules."

These same rules apply to boobs.

"Jesus, Wally. 'I have a friend who has a friend?' Really?"

HA!

"Sparkling cider. That's wine, but for children."

I may or may not have seduced my own Sad Green Bitch with some children's wine once or twice. It's pretty damn tasty.

An older woman in yoga pants, her shopping cart laden with boxed wine and sugar-free yogurt, glared at her while covering the ears of a grinning, giggling, gap-toothed little girl.

Oh, can it, Karen. Not like your little brat hasn't overheard worse when you've binge-watched Dance Moms.

her Wallyt

Headcanon: that's also a nickname for Wallflower's whispering eye.

Eeping submissively,

Hey, my girlfriend does that sometimes!

"Go eat your fucking dinner, Wallflower."

I love every line of this man's dialogue. Seems like the cold, hard world of retail has sharpened his rather hippyish edges, and I'm all for it.

Now I'm wondering what Wally actually bought at the store. Other than probably not Wonderbread.