Years ago, I was at the supermarket, leisurely strolling through the aisles after a long day. Like many parents, I was taking a little longer than I needed because those extra 15 minutes meant some extra alone time before going back into Mom Mode.
I was busy perusing the produce, mindlessly thinking about everything and nothing at once. I grabbed a bunch of bananas with just the right tinge of yellow-green that made them sweet but not overtly so, and that’s when I spotted a couple standing in front of the peppers.
At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about them. They looked like they were on their way home from work, probably picking up a few things for dinner.
It wasn’t until I got closer that something struck me as odd. I saw the woman pick up a pepper, scrutinize it, looking for any imperfections. I get it; no one wants a pitiful pepper.
But when I got closer to the couple, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t just that the woman was super picky about the peppers; she apparently needed the guy to sign off on her selection. She would hold up a pepper, and then ask him:
“Is this pepper okay?”
He looked at it and said, “No, that’s not good at all.” Then, she would put it back.
And it went on. And on. After the fourth pepper, I was totally invested. Sure, I lingered by the Fuji apples for far too long, but I had to see how this fruit fiasco was going to end. Which prizeworthy pepper would finally make it into her basket?
I hate to say it, but by Pepper #12, I had to leave, or I would have lost it. I was either going to march over to the couple or start crying by the cauliflower.
So many thoughts raced through my mind as I headed toward self-checkout. Why couldn’t she choose the green pepper on her own? Why did the guy have to help her make the decision? And more importantly, what dish was worth all that drama?
(Of course, I’m kidding here. Well, sort of.)
I wanted to swoop in and rescue her. But I didn’t. I just went home.
Even now, I still think about her. I don’t remember what she looks like, but I remember how I felt watching it all unfold. It was unnerving that a person could have so much power over you that you couldn’t even pick out a pepper without permission.
Now, was her partner a narcissist? Maybe, but the signs were surely there that it was an unhealthy relationship: the control, the minimization, the criticism, the constant second-guessing. And it happens to more people than you think.
Here’s what I do know: don’t let anyone hold that kind of power over you—not over your choices, your life, and definitely not over your produce. Pick your own damn peppers.
