I haven’t been working out much since Ironman Chattanooga and think my body is a little pissed. Especially considering the frequent and intense cravings for those flat “deli-style” pretzels. Last night was one of those nights.
As I approached the pretzel aisle in Kroger, I made the mistake of lending a friendly eye to a guy perched with his son near the cakes. I overheard him say, “$24 for a cake?!?” It kinda made me smile, which seemed to ignite his latent comedian.
Fifteen seconds later I’m 10 feet in front of him squinting discretely at the pretzels (I can never seem to distinguish which flavor I’m buying) when I hear him yucking it up.
“24-bucks? Hang on while I cash in my 401k!”
I tried to ignore him, but in a moment of weakness turned my head in his direction. He peered at me with one eye; his captive, pretzel-addicted audience of one.
“Hell, son, I might have to sell your mom’s wedding ring!” he said, followed by a belly laugh.
His son gazed at the floor with mild embarrassment.
“Hell, guess you’re not going to college, hahahaha.”
Then he takes out his phone and makes a mock call to his wife, “Honey, I think we’re gonna have to take out a second mortgage for this cake!”
Here I am, sneaking around in my own little pretzel-porn-shop, and this guy is making it tough to concentrate. Finally I just grabbed “the red one” and made my way to the counter–but Cake Man wasn’t done.
I’m nearly out of ear shot when I hear him raise his voice for the encore.
“I need to be a cake pimp!”
It was truly impossible to ignore and I caved. With a slow turn, uncomfortable smile, and a very weak raising of my pretzel bag, I waived goodbye.
Anyway, my diet has been a little questionable lately.
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