I met Jamie for cocktails yesterday. I owed her a round of drinks for telling her neighbor stop calling my number. She told him that I had died a horrible death and his calls were only adding to the tremendous grief of my next of kin who were keeping my phone in the event that I want to contact them from The Beyond.
Before arriving at the bar, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a salad. I had to have something to eat, because I am really, really b*tchy when I haven't eaten and it takes Jamie forever to order a cocktail. I didn't want to have to kill her and drink her blood from her skull while demanding Ketel One and extra olives from the petrified bar staff.
I chose the spinach salad with little grape tomatoes. I love those tiny tomatoes so much that I was able to overlook the hardboiled egg that was in the plastic container. I do not eat ova, because, it's just not natural. I selected a little packet of balsamic vinaigrette to go with my salad. The store even provided a handy packet of salt, pepper, a paper napkin and a plastic fork. The cashier rang up my salad and then scanned the packet of salad dressing. It was $0.32. At the time, that seemed like a ridiculous expense to me. When you buy a salad to go, it seems to me that the dressing ought to be free. I smiled as warmly as I could at the cashier and said, "Honey, you must be new." I told her about the free dressing with a to go salad store policy (that I had just invented).
The cashier coolly asked, "Ma'am, when you buy a head of lettuce, do you expect a free bottle of your favorite dressing? Do you expect a cheese plate when you buy a case of wine?"
Damn, my affinity for wine. Clearly, she wasn't new.