Aw Chucks...

My favorite store is Chuck's Produce.  

It is some bizarre portal that transforms from a local produce store to my personal meat market once the automatic doors close behind me.  

If I'm in a hurry, I wear the ruby ring my mom gave me for my birthday.  That way I can get out within an hour.  Without the ring, I'm a conversation vortex, disguised as a woman squeezing and sniffing fruit.  

  

Yeah, I know, I'm a sturdy girl. 

Today the produce boy stocking cherries had a stomach ache because he ate a scorpion pepper a half hour prior to my arrival.  I ordered him to go drink some milk, but he didn't want to get in trouble.  In retrospect, he could have used a hug.

In the checkout line, there was young, blond gentleman who looked like he had walked right off the page of a 1960's surfing ad.  As I enthusiastically made room for his items on the conveyer belt, his young Robert Redford handsomeness distracted me, and my basket went flying off the end- which I caught in mid-air.  It was the single greatest moment of my life.  

I told him that I was a ninja, which opened the door to conversation and unskilled flirting.  It was awkward and wonderful, and I think I love him.

When I left, I was hoping to see him in the parking lot.  That way I could show off what a cool car I have...and according to stereotypes, my really small penis too.  

Behind me is Alvin, my little red Miata.  Me?  Just call me Hedwig....(not pictured: the angry inch). 

So, on those glum days when my life soundtrack is playing "The Old Gray Mare, She Ain't What She Used to Be", I head on over to Chuck's and buy some reasonably priced local produce.  Over there, I'm still a hot tomato.  (Ha cha cha!)