Having had to live with himself for his entire life, Baxter really should have anticipated that the fruit of his loins would be just as much obnoxiously high-maintenance as he himself was, but he did not expect for them to be so demanding while still inhabiting their mother's womb.
Why did it have to be some type of junk food? Why could she not have a craving for apples, peanut butter or even brand-name ice cream, which would have been much easier to find? Why could he not have heeded to his wife's prescient wisdom after he read that frankly hysterical gestational diabetes article and threw out all high-sugar, industrialized products laying around in the house?
Oh, no, that would be too easy, and the Wards did not like it easy. They want drama, emotion, entertainment. They want the entire world to orbit them, and if a baby is selfish and entitled, one of his would be a veritable sociopath. Therefore, it stands to reason that Jamie wants Cheetos, post haste.
Cheetos, those orange fluffy sticks that he did not particularly like as they always stained his fingers. That horribly-smelling charade of a snack that made his stomach quench by the highly-artificial cheese smell alone. The thing that he was most glad to see in the depths of the dumpster behind their apartment complex.
Baxter can almost hear the vengeful laughter of that sunglasses-wearing cheetah at his predicament.
The baby would not be satisfied with any sort, either. It must be a very specific one made of some sort of cheese that he did not care to remember. It was the one with the blue bag, it should not be too hard to find.
She had just woken up this morning wailing for him to find them right now, rummaging every cabinet for her stash, despite knowing very well that they were thrown out. She would have gotten them herself but between the constant running to the bathroom and her swollen feet, she was not leaving the house any time soon.
Now, as the loving husband he prides himself to be, he would have offered to pick up the snack regardless, but the nagging and shouting had irked him to the point where he stormed out the house in a huff. It was too early in the morning, he had thrown out the coffee in his healthy eating mania, which felt as a gift that keeps on giving at this point, and there was too much happening all at once for his sleep-induced mind to get around to properly.
They were both angry, but he would still get her those Cheetos. Because he was that much in love. Or stupid. Maybe both.
However, again because the Wards have a flare for the dramatic, Baxter was currently freaking out. He had driven to three different corner stores and they had all run out of the ones she liked. There were all these other strange ones in all different coloured bags, but he knew she would kill him if he bought the wrong one. Traffic was a bitch and he had half a mind to just go to a Walmart in the suburbs already, damn the two-hour round trip the GPS is estimating.
He rushed into the next store on his path, checking his watch hastily as he ran about the shop. He had been gone for about an hour now. Jamie was probably demolishing the place and burning all his clothes in pure hormone-induced rage by now.
After being unable to find the snack himself, he ran up to a random man, and shook him by the arms vigorously. "Where are the fucking Cheetos?"
The man jumped in fright. He must have been a sight to see with his frenzied appearance, wide eyes and dishevelled hair and clothes. He reared back and aimed a swing at him, which Baxter dodged at the last moment. That brought him out of his stress-induced panic and he calmed down.
The party planner held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry about that, sir. I just need to find those Cheetos or my wife will kill me."
The man looked at him and then nodded comprehensively. "Pregnancy can be a bitch."
"Don't I know it? Please, do you know where they keep the Cheetos here?" Baxter asked.
The man led him to the chips and party aisle and showed him the wide array of high-fat snacks the sick American mind can conjure. Right in the centre, like the singing archangel of marriage salvation, were the beloved Cheetos in the stupid blue bag. Baxter thanked the man profusely before grabbing five large bags and heading to the checkout.
Baxter drove through the city streets like a maniac, reappearing in his living room with a sigh, a relieved smile on his face. He had gotten the Cheetos and hopefully could stop the storm.
A storm that, as it turns out, did not happen. He looked about confused and then checked his watch. It was just after nine in the morning, and he had been one and a half hours in total. The place should have been destroyed, but all was quiet within the house. The kitchen cabinets returned to their prior orderly state, the dishes were washed and put away, the throw pillows were neatly distributed on the couch the way he likes it, one black and one white at each corner.
He placed the bags on the kitchen table and called out his wife's name. "Jamie? I got the Cheetos you like."
"In here." There came the calm and delightful response from their bedroom.
He entered it to find Jamie smiling and lying in bed, her feet propped up on a pillow and a large bowl of ice cream on her chest. Her favourite show was playing on the television she put in their room.
At his bewildered expression, she explained, "Right after you left, I had a sudden craving for chocolate ice cream instead. Want some?"