Do you ever build up a situation in your mind, only to experience a dramatically disappointing result when reality comes to pass?

Me too.

I want to be the hero, just once.

This never goes well for me.

Particularly when I attempt to satisfy this insecurity with grocery store treasures.

You know what I’m talking about.

The item that’s not on the list, and maybe not in the weekly budget, that you splurge on to impress your husband or fickle toddler who no longer thinks you’re cool.

I live for these sorts of treasures.

Especially if they’re a bargain, you bet I do.

But as life often goes with me, there have been many unfortunate grocery store busts. I suppose this is what happens when you’re a culinary risk-taker like myself.

Take Clancy’s corn chips. No matter how hard I sell these, Drew refuses to accept them as a legitimate frito chili pie staple.

Poor Clancy.

My more recent bust came in the form of a delectable, hormone-free, grilled chicken sandwich, delicately tucked between cheese and a pita, frozen and prepackaged for your convenience.

Now I was in a desperate place on this particular day because Andy and I had been dead to civilization for over a week due to frigid temperatures and a viral plague.

These little chicken treasures quickly revived us as we rolled up to CostCo’s judgment-free sample stand a few or more times, filling our bellies with this scrumptious poultry wonder.

I really tried to stay the course and not deviate from my list.

But this chicken cheese pita goodness beckoned me. And after multiple samples, I found myself mechanically putting a box of the frozen treasures in our cart.

As it usually goes with my grocery store finds, I couldn’t help but smile to myself as we made our way to the checkout.

I knew Drew would be pleased upon beholding this hearty chicken treat.

It would fit ever so perfectly in his lunch box.

I just knew he’d take the sandwich for lunch tomorrow.

I pictured Drew and Andy hoisting me on their shoulders, carrying me around the kitchen in celebratory fashion.

I hurried home.

Once home, I couldn’t resist trying another one of my treasures.

I excitedly tore open the box, only to find this supposed “chicken sandwich” was smaller than the palm of my hand.

The sandwich was a mini.

I got robbed.

Overcome with disappointment, I gathered myself before Drew came home.

If I’ve learned anything from my serial grocery store failures, redemption lies in the presentation.

What I thought was perfect for Drew’s lunch suddenly became perfect for Drew’s snack.

I sold my idea.

Confidence is everything.

“Drew, I found you the perfect snacky,” I chirped when he walked through the door that evening.

Drew did not buy my idea.

Neither did I.

Guess who’s been eating multiple mini chicken sandwiches for lunch these days?

Yep.

Four at a time.

I’m still not the hero.

But my belly is awfully full. 😉