Nothing at all to eat

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. I was standing in the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry. 

My girlfriend, Joanne, walked into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something to eat,” I said, my head buried in the pantry as I waded through cans and boxes.

Joanne snickered. “With your butt sticking out like that, you look like Winnie the Pooh when he’s stuck in Rabbit’s doorway. I’m tempted to tie antlers to your back and paint a smiley-face on your ass.”

“At least Rabbit had honey at his house.” I said. “There’s nothing to eat in this place!”

“Are you serious?” Joanne said, marching forward. “I just went shopping the other day. There’s tons of food to eat.”

She shoved me aside. “Look! We have cereal, oatmeal, crackers, chips, bread, chicken soup, cake mix, beans, rice, flour, canned corn, canned beets, canned sweet potatoes — canned everything! We look like pioneers who stockpiled food for the winter. We also have pasta and olives and instant mashed potatoes. We even have a box of mac and cheese!”

She frowned, holding the mac-and-cheese box. “Speaking of which, how did we get this? I never buy this stuff.”

“I tossed it in the shopping cart when you weren’t looking,” I said.

Joanne glared at me. “Seriously?”

I shrugged. “I would have asked you, but you would have said no.”

Joanne sighed, then slammed the box back in the pantry shelf. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Just to clarify, I never wanted to go to the grocery store in the first place,” I said. “You always drag me there against my will.”

“That’s because you’re always complaining there’s nothing to eat. Speaking of which —” Joanne wrenched open the refrigerator — “look in here! We have milk, eggs, cheese, leftover spaghetti, butter, yogurt, lunchmeat, apples, oranges, sausage, hot dogs, salad, pickles, pre-washed carrot sticks! How can you possibly claim there’s nothing to eat? What is it you want?”

“Well,” I said, looking at the floor to avoid Joanne’s gaze, “I was sort of craving an extra-large pepperoni pizza with mushrooms, bacon, peppers and a spicy, zingy tomato sauce. And maybe some parmesan-encrusted breadsticks to go with it?”

Joanne glared at me. “Seriously?”

I shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Joanne said, crossing her arms, “we’re definitely not going to have any of that in our pantry.”