You sigh as you pull Molly Gunn by the hand into the fluorescent-lit abyss of the local grocery store.

“Okay, Mol,” you say, trying to sound serious. “We’re just… going to pick up some basics. Milk, eggs, bread. Nothing crazy.”

Molly looks around like you’ve brought her into a science lab instead of aisle five. “Basics? You mean… this place has no jazz hands? No spontaneous music performances?”

“Just… normal people buying normal food,” you reply, keeping your voice calm.

Molly blinks, then saunters into the first aisle like it’s an alien planet. She picks up a head of lettuce, holding it up dramatically. “Is this… alive?”

You groan. “No, Molly. It’s a plant you eat.”

“Oh!” she says, nodding thoughtfully, then tosses it over her shoulder like it’s a prop in a Broadway show. It narrowly misses a man picking out apples.

You grab her elbow. “Molly! Please, try to act like we belong here.”

She beams at you. “I’m acting! This is me pretending to be ‘normal.’ It’s exhausting already.”

By the time you reach the dairy aisle, Molly is riding one of those motorized shopping carts, waving a stick of butter like it’s a baton.

“Look at this!” she exclaims to the entire aisle. “Butter! It’s solid yet… soft! A miracle!”

You can feel the stares, the whispers. You groan again and drag her to the checkout. “Mol… please. Just let me finish buying the groceries without… whatever this is happening.”

Molly leans down, whispering conspiratorially. “Pssst… if we buy one of everything, the store will feel happier. Think about the vibes, man.”

You stare at her. “No. We are not buying one of everything.”

She shrugs, unconcerned, and places a single candy bar on the conveyor belt, looking pleased. “One small step for happiness.”