So there we were, standing in the eternal abyss of the grocery line. My pregnant wife, Karol, was patiently waiting with our cart, her belly protruding prominently, a silent reminder of the life growing within her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this guy bulldozes into her, nearly knocking her off balance along with our cart. I felt my blood boil, ready to confront him, but before I could react, Karol intervened with a plan of her own. Growing up, I was taught to take matters into my own hands, to seize control of situations rather than trust in some abstract concept of karma. But Karol, she had a different perspective—a belief in the universe’s inherent sense of balance.
As the guy muttered a half-hearted apology, Karol simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
She calmly reached into her purse and pulled out a single, solitary item—a ripe, juicy tomato. Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, Karol expertly lobbed the tomato at the guy, the crimson missile soaring through the air in a perfect arc. It collided with his chest with a satisfying splat, leaving a streak of red juice in its wake. The grocery line fell silent as everyone turned to witness the spectacle unfolding before them. The guy stood there, stunned and speechless, tomato pulp dripping down his shirt like a badge of shame. Karol, on the other hand, remained unfazed, her expression one of satisfaction as she returned to calmly loading our groceries onto the conveyor belt. As we left the store, the incident behind us, I couldn’t help but marvel at Karol’s approach. For her, justice wasn’t about retaliation or seeking revenge—it was about restoring balance to the universe in her own unique way. And as we walked hand in hand, I realized that sometimes, the most powerful form of justice isn’t found in anger or aggression, but in the simple act of letting go and trusting that the universe has a way of setting things right in the end.