Tantamount

Tantamount- being essentially equal to something

Ex: “Well, that’s tantamount to finishing the puzzle, it’s as close as we’re going to get” spewed the pedantic Richard, adjusting the wire-rimmed oval spectacles on his owlish face.

“Yea, but it’s just not quite as satisfying as if we had all the pieces, you know?” said Sarah, discontented.

“FUCKKKK!!!!!” Screamed Richard towards the heavens. “I can’t TAKE IT anymore. They said go on a puzzle retreat. Go get an Airbnb somewhere out in the woods with your significant other and bring a bunch of fucking puzzles with you. It’ll fix your marriage, they said! Well that’s puzzling to me, because all this has done is drive me fucking looney tunes! If I do one more god damn puzzle I swear to god I’m going to put my skull in a vice and clamp it until my brain is as thick as a sheet of computer paper.”

“Found it” Said Sarah as she leaned over and scooped up a puzzle piece with a cartoon image of the $1.50 hot dog and soda combo meal from Costco. She slid the piece into its proper position next to the chicken bake and the churro and all the other tantalizing options from the Costco food court.

“I wish our marriage had the same stability as the Costco food court prices” said Richard.

“Well, they can afford to keep them that way. It’s a loss leader” said Sarah.

“What the fuck is a loss leader?” asked Richard, a puzzled (yea I could have used a synonym for puzzled here, but the theme of this piece is puzzles, go cry about it in the comments) look on his wrinkled countenance.

“You don’t know what a loss leader is!? Fabio knew what a loss leader was. You just don’t get me like Fabio does!”

“Who the fuck is Fabio? You told me about Daryl but not about this Fabio character!”

“He’s actually the guy who told me about this puzzle retreat concept. I met him in the Costco food court”

“FUCK FUCK FUCK” Shouted Richard, both hands digging into the sides of his head, clawing at his slicked back wavy hair.

*Richard sinks to his knees and shakes both of his fists up at the ceiling, tears cascading from behind his lenses until they are soaked up by his rugged beard. Sarah removes a crumpled-up ball of tinfoil from her pocket, the same type of silver foil that they use to cover up the Hebrew national hotdogs that they serve in the Costco food court. She opens up the greasy foil to reveal a polaroid image of Fabio in just an apron, a little bit of yellow mustard stained on his chin. Written on the picture in black sharpie is a message: “I only come in one size baby and that size is bulk” *