The guacamole curse

About a month ago I was in the grocery store and I walked by some tortilla chips, and I was like, guaaaaaacamole!

I’d never made guacamole, so I pulled out my phone and searched for a recipe. It was so simple! Avocados, tomatoes, onions, jalapeños, cilantro, and salt. I already had onions, so I gathered up everything else except the avocados. I found an entire bin of them but not one of them was even close to being ripe.

I got two of them anyway. I figured three, four days max I would have my guacamole. I went home and unloaded my goods, and warned everyone that the chips were not for eating, they were for saving.

But chips are a real treat at my house since we rarely ever buy them, and that night I found that half the bag was already gone.

No one would admit to opening the bag, much less eating half of them. I pleaded with them, please save them for the guacamole.

The next day they were all gone

Since my avocados were still about as un-ripe as they could possibly be, I stopped by the store while I was out and bought another bag of tortilla chips.

The next night my avocados were still green, and the chips had been eaten. Again.

Nobody gave a flying fig about me and my guacamole.

I gave up and used the tomatoes on sandwiches. On the fourth day the avocados miraculously turned from green to black, but by that time the jalapeño was shriveled and the cilantro was wilty and I no longer had chips or tomatoes.

So I threw out the avocados.

But I still wanted guacamole.

The next week I decided to try again, and again the avocados in the bin were green as grass and hard as rocks. I went ahead and bought all the ingredients, but decided to wait to buy the chips since I knew those wouldn’t survive the great avocado ripening.

Then one by one, everyone in my family came down with the stomach bug and guacamole wasn’t at the top of my list anymore. On Friday I had to go out of town and when I got back on Sunday, the avocados were molded mush.

So I threw those out too.

When Matt texted me from Kroger the following week and asked if I wanted anything in particular, I decided to make it easier on myself.

I asked for some chips, two avocados, and a container of pre-made Pico-de-Gallo. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? All I would have to do was mash the avocados, add the P-de-G, and sprinkle with salt. So much easier.

“What is Pico-de-Gallo?” he texted.

I explained, told him where to find it, and that it would be labeled “Pico-de-Gallo.”

He said he found something similar.

I told him to bring it.

He brought me chips, two avocados, and a container of chopped, multi-colored bell peppers.

I hid the chips on the top shelf of the pantry, but failed to consider that Dylan is nearly six-feet tall and you can’t hide anything from him on the top shelf. The chips lasted 2.5 days, at which time the avocados were so hard they could have been used as weapons.

I didn’t lose hope. When the avocados were nearly ready, I went to the store bought actual Pico-de-Gallo. But I forgot the chips.

I ended up throwing out those avocados too. And the bell peppers. And the lime (that one had lasted through two attempts).

The next time I went to the store, I went straight to the refrigerated section and bought a pre-made container of guacamole, and a big bag of Tostitos. And while everyone else ate homemade pizza for dinner, I ate my guacamole and chips. And it was good.

During the last month, I spent almost $40 on six avocados, five bags of chips, four limes, two bundles of cilantro, three jalapeños, four tomatoes, a bunch of chopped-up bell peppers, and a package of Pico-de-Gallo before I got my guacamole.

It may have been more about beating the bad juju than getting the guacamole.

I savored each bite of that guacamole, but I left just enough in the container for one last dip of the chip. I was finished and felt satisfied that I could let it go. No longer would I grieve over the bins of un-ripe, weapon-worthy avocados, or fume over wilted cilantro.

I beat the guacamole curse.

Before we went to bed, Matt opened up the refrigerator, picked up the nearly-empty package of guacamole, and said, “It’s all gone? You ate it all?”

“No, since I’m very considerate, I left you the last bite,” I said.

“But I wanted some guacamole, too,” he said.

I sighed. “I’ll pick some up next time I go to the store.”

Here we go again.

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