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.

Quarter-Life Crisis: DIY

It happened again. I was faced with the fact that I’m older. And this time I’m even older than I was the last time I complained. It just won’t stop.

Let me tell you about this adventure I had not too long ago.

After months in this new apartment, I finally decided to actually venture around and do stuff in town. There’s a Target and other stores right down the street from the complex within walking distance. I really wanted to get lost in stationary, and I also woke up with an insatiable craving for yogurt, so I was like hey! I’ll just take a walk over to Target and get the stuff I need, how CONVENIENT!!! I was very excited. I got dressed and started my walk.

Did I tell you about the layout of this apartment complex? I didn’t did I? Alrighty, well I swear this place is big enough to have its own zip code. Target is located down the road at the one end of the complex. And me? I live on the complete other end. I could have just walked to the main road for a straight shot to yogurt and stationary paradise, but of course I didn’t do that. I figured it would be faster to just walk through the complex to the other side. It doesn’t sound like it should be so bad, does it?

Well, it was so bad. In fact, it was worse.

This apartment complex is situated with a giant circle road in the center with a bunch of little windy roads stemming out from the main circle. I didn’t want to get lost on that circle, going down the wrong street and ending up somewhere that wasn’t Target. So instead of following any streets, I just went straight. In between buildings, across fields, whatever. As long as I went straight, I would surely get to the other side, right?

I got lost.

Every apartment looks exactly the same. I started questioning everything. How long have I been walking? Am I even going straight anymore? WILL THIS EVER END WHERE IS THE OTHER SIDE?!

It started raining. I wanted to give up and go back home, but wait…where is home? Where is anything??? This is how I die, I thought. Stuck in a sprawl of cookie cutter buildings that span out as far as I could see. In the rain. Phone dead. Tired and hungry for yogurt.  It was one of the darker moments in my life..

In my growing hopelessness, I wondered maybe if I just… sat on the ground, and cried, someone would come help me find my way home. And this is where it all set in. This is where I realized that I was an adult, and nobody is going to pity a grown woman crying in the rain over yogurt. This is where I figured in order to get out of this, I’m gonna have to do it myself. So I got myself together, and continued my trek. After such turmoil, I better get what I left the house for. I may be pathetic, but to be pitiful enough to accept defeat ought to be a sin.

I made it to Target. And I made it back home. I may have turned a 30 minute trip into a four hour journey, but hey. I got my yogurt. Bought myself some pens. I’ll get this adulting thing down eventually, you think? Maybe? Nah, I totally will. You’ll see.