[ WP ] A guy finds the perfect avocado

I love my wife, but like any marriage, there are small little personality quirks that drive me nuts. Among them, she ’ s an avocado connoisseur. When it ’ s my week to do the shopping it never fails. 
 
 “ Buy me an avocado so I can make guacamole on Tuesday. ” “ Please buy me an avocado to put on my sandwich tomorrow. ” “ Can you get an avocado that is ripe for our party dip this afternoon? ” 
 
 For her, it ’ s so obvious. She walks into the store, looks over the various bins of avocados, picks one and knows, “ This avocado will be perfectly ripe for my salad on Tuesday. ” She ’ s a freaking avocado Nostradamus. 
 
 I walk into the store and see a bunch of green, brown and black fruit. Sure, I guess I know which ones are more ripe than others. I can immediately rule out the one that ’ s on the floor and has been rolled over by a shopping cart. But that ’ s the extent of my avocado futurism capabilities. 
 
 And when I get home I can feel the disappointment. It ’ s too ripe or not ripe enough or not going to be ripe enough in two days when she needs it. Half the time she changes her cooking plans and the other half she goes back to the store to buy the right avocado. The wrong avocado just won ’ t do. 
 
 So there I was yesterday, my week to do shopping. “ Anything to add to my list? ” and she replies “ Oh, I ’ ll need some avocados for Thursday. I ’ m making guacamole. ” 
 
 Thursday!!! That ’ s five days away. Almost without fail, I assume I ’ ll look at the bin of green avocados and pick one that will be jet black by Monday. She ’ ll probably just leave it there until Thursday, melting and gathering fruit flies, as a way to mock me. 
 
 I hang my head and reluctantly drive to the store. When I get to the fruits and vegetable section, I may be exaggerating for effect, but there must have been 20 bins of avocados. I ’ m overwhelmed. Did every farmer in Mexico decide to ship their avocados to my local store this week? I ’ m not a crying man, but I did consider it for a minute. 
 
 An old hunched over woman walking with a cane hobbles up to me. “ I can help you find the avocado you seek. ” Her voice is harsh and whispery, like she had smoked for 50 years. “ …but there is a price. ” 
 
 Who is she? How did this woman know my problem? What price? 
 
 “ Um ma ’ am, I just need an avocado that will be good for guacamole on Thursday. ” 
 
 “ The green shall sheen until black you need, but the price shall be a son named Jean. ” 
 
 “ What? ” 
 
 “ I need you to name your first born son Jean. That ’ s my price. ” 
 
 “ Um lady, my oldest son is already nine. His name is Steve. I don ’ t think he ’ d appreciate changing it at this point. ” I start to back away to make a quick exit from this crazy woman when she shouts. 
 
 “ FINE! Steve it is. You shall name your first born son Steve as the price of my finding you an avocado. Here, take this one. ” She tossed the avocado into my cart. 
 
 I was about to argue with her, that she can ’ t possibly call it a price if I named the kid years ago, but then I realize just how ridiculous that would be. No need to argue with the crazy old lady. I turn the cart and with a quick, “ Thanks. ” I book it over to the milk and cheese section. 
 
 When I arrive home, my wife helps me unload the groceries. “ Oh this avocado will be perfect on Thursday. Thank you. ” She leans over and kisses me, then goes back to unloading groceries. 
 
 “ Oh, but I ’ ll need at least three of them. Did you get any more? ” 
 
 I sigh, grab the car keys, and yell up the stairs, “ Hey Steve, why don ’ t you come to the store with me to pick up some avocados. ”
