this imploding heart

Sam and Teresa

Teresa doesn't know which butter to buy.

Here's the thing. She's not generally a poor decision maker. She carefully weighs her options before making a choice and then tries to establish which one will make her happiest. She considers the attributes of each option and decides which components are appropriate contenders. This is fine for things like quitting a job or moving across the country, but she's finding more and more that when it comes to the every day things, it's difficult to make clear distinctions between choices.

I try to be patient as she stands in front of the refrigerated case. She's at least narrowed the options down to unsalted only. And thank goodness for that, or we'd be here all day. She turns each package over and reads the back.

"This one's known for it's outstanding creamyness..." she mutters half under her breath, "but this one comes from Oregon raised cows. My uncle lives in Oregon. hmm."

I know. I know how it sounds. What does creamyness have to do with Oregon-ness? Most people would say nothing. Not a thing. Except for Teresa. In her head right now, she's weighing her emotional response to Oregon cows against her emotional response to outstanding creaminess, weighing which will prove to be a better quality than the other.

I reach into my jacket pocket and change the song on my CD player. I've been fantisizing about an Ipod lately, but I can't justify the cost. They're so small and expensive, what if it breaks? This is also the reason I'm adverse to having kids. What if I dropped it? Teresa would kill me.

She's just deciding which box shape is her favorite when I run out of patience.

"Tess, you know that butter comes from cows, and cows are pretty much all the same, right? You're not going to be able to tell the difference between these butters when they're out of their packaging, baby. Just pick the one that's cheapest per pound."

She rotates a quarter of a turn, plants her hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side. "Samuel," -she's the only one besides my grandmother who consistently calls me by my full first name- "I will know the difference."

In one sense, this couldn't be more true. If I don't let her figure out which one she thinks will make her happiest, we will have to revisit her choice every single time we use the butter. 'I wonder if that other butter would have been fresher. Oregon is closer, you know.' or ' What if this butter isn't as creamy as that other butter? Shouldn't this be creamier, Samuel?' The what might have been component haunts Tess if she makes a hasty decision. What if that other leather jacket had more durable snaps instead of the extra pocket in this one? What if that Chinese place's seats were more comfotable than this Mexican restaurant's tortillas were delicious?

"Oh. But remember that time we were in Oregon at that diner and the toast was cold? I'm going to get the creamy one."

Posted by Sonya at December 14, 2004 08:21 AM