At least once a week, I do a grocery run for the charges' mom. The list always includes American Cheese because that is just about all younger charge will eat these days. There's a young-ish guy who works the deli counter where I do this shopping and he usually makes fairly amusing comments when I'm there, and I laugh and go on my way. Today I had this exchange with him:
Deli Guy: Oh no, not more cheese already.
Me: (Laughing) Yes. A pound please.
DG: No.
Me: Fork it over, sucker.
DG: You can talk! Usually you just laugh.
Me: Hahaha.
DG: Do you have eyes, too?
I lift my sunglasses and stare at him for a minute.
DG: Very lovely.
Me: Thank you.
DG: Come here often?
Me: I come here for the music (some crappy Muzak was playing). And the cheese, of course.
DG: Ah yes, we'll always have the cheese, won't we?
Me: Always.
At which point he handed me my little packet of cheese and off I went.
Yes, I am desperate enough that a meaningless flirt with the deli boy at Treasure Island made my day.
Back later with more tales of Tennessee.