A Story About Yogurt

Anyone who knows me is aware that I am very particular about textures. It affects my food preferences more than the actual taste of the food. One texture I absolutely cannot stomach is anything custard-y or pudding-like. The only exception is yogurt, inexplicably.

I love yogurt. I would choose to eat yogurt over ice cream on any given day. But my texture aversion does bring stipulations, in that I really only eat vanilla yogurt, and I don’t like yogurt that’s really thick. At that point I swear it’s expanding as I eat it, and trying to swallow it will prove futile as it cloaks my esophagus and restricts my air flow…like some reverse boa constrictor. It’s terrifying. And don’t get me started on those fruit on the bottom atrocities. Actually, too late. Someone tell me why I would willingly, worse yet, enjoy eating a container of goo filled with chunks of coagulated gunk that deteriorates into the goo until it changes color? It’s disgusting. It’s wrong. It’s entirely not my point, I digress.

It has become increasingly more difficult with this Greek yogurt trend to find a brand that I like. You can barely ever find normal yogurt these days. And then when you do, they might be too sweet, or only carried in plain, or it comes with crushed candy topping that completely defeats any purpose of eating yogurt. It’s seriously getting out of hand.

But I have found it. The perfect yogurt. Wallaby.


This stuff is my jawn. I am not endorsed by them or anything so I won’t dive into a whole spiel, but the stuff is good. And I used to get like 3 or 4 of them at the market near my job along with a bag of kettle chips. It’s my favorite snack. I’d eat it every workday.

Then the devil tried my very life.

It was a Friday, and I got to work late because my ratchet neighbors never take out our shared trash bins, despite the fact that they’re the only ones filling the cans with piles of open pizza and take out boxes and I only have a full bag of garbage every two weeks. Then I had some less than pleasant customer dealings. I needed to decompress. I needed yogurt. It was time for a break. I went to the market down the street.

No Wallaby.

No empty space where the Wallaby once was.

No price tag for Wallaby anywhere to be found.

I saw some guy stocking shelves and I asked him if there was any Wallaby in the back.

“No, we stopped carrying it. You should try {inferior brand I didn’t bother remembering the name of} maybe.”

“No, sir. I will not be trying anything else. I’ve been through this charade. I’ve tried all of these. Nothing is good enough. I need Wallaby.”

“Well, okay. Uh…sorry about that then?”

What world did I just step into, and how do I get back to the one that makes sense, I thought.

It was a particularly trying time and the desire for yogurt was strong, so I walked five blocks to the next store that I knew carried Wallaby.


Not gone, but out of stock.

No less soul-crushing.

I wanted to scream.

I opted for pouting instead.

My friend who works there saw me. He asked me what was wrong, and after laughing at my pain, got me Wallaby from the back. He is forgiven for laughing. He saved the day. He’s my hero.

No, wait…actually I’m my hero

He saved my day, but I saved my life! Because a week after that dark day, I went to the market across the street from work during a break, and






I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was back. It was vanilla. It was the beginning of a great day. The guy who I yelled at before was apparently the manager of ordering the dairy stuff…or something. Whoops. He was around, and saw me ogling the yogurt and came up.

“Yeah, I reordered Wallaby after yo– after I got a few requests for its return.”



I enacted change.



I quite literally changed the world with my voice and words alone.

I saw a wrong, and I made it right. With my voice.

My voice has power.

I can bring yogurt back.

Oh my goodness, what else can I do?

I was empowered. I am empowered. I’m going to change everything for the better!

Today, yogurt. Tomorrow, the world.

One Reply to “A Story About Yogurt”

  1. Hooray for Wallaby! And Roos and koalas, too! Stormy, you handle the language beautifully.
    Flair for writing is rather evident in your work. Again, making something extraordinary out
    of the ordinary. But your writing about the ordinary is by no means ordinary. Also,
    identified completely with your Yogurt travails- nothing but muscilage like Greek Yogurt
    which lodges in my gullet for hours. I am now phobic about eating any kind of Yogurt.
    And following one of the cardinal rules of writing – writing WHAT YOU KNOW!!
    Write!Write! Write! Eagerly looking forward to enjoying more of it. You know, Maya,
    good writing depends on what you bring to it like good reading, and you bring a great
    deal to it. Anxious to talk to you more about your obvious gift. Thanks sooo much for
    your efforts. See you soon, Alex


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