I was fortunate to have lunch today with one of my most favorite people. (Incidentally, Mike wrote his 300th post today on, in my opinion, a really fabulous topic. Go send him some blog love.)
I got there before him, so I went about picking out my lunch, which included a rather large, quite delicious looking peach. I brought my lunch to the register and was fishing around in my wallet when I noticed that the peach had rung up at $2.08.
“That peach is two dollars?!” I asked the cashier in shock.
She turned to me with a cool eye and simply muttered, “Yup”.
Well, she had already rung it up and either way I wanted the peach, but still. Two dollars? For a peach? This seemed like a lot.
By this time, Mike was waiting in line to pay for his lunch, and I marched up to him, peach in hand.
“I just paid two dollars for a peach. What are your thoughts on that,” I asked him.
He stared at me for a second before responding. “That better be the best damn peach you ever had”.
As we were discussing the peach, a man in line with Mike joined in on the conversation. He was jovial, and urged me to go back and see what the listed price of the peach was. I left the two of them talking, assuming they knew each other, and headed back to the fruit department.
Four dollars a pound. For a peach! I nearly fell head first into the kiwis.
I headed back to the table and Mike walked over to join me, followed by the man. Who, um, Mike did NOT know, actually.
I told them both the price and the man repeated Mike’s sentiment that it better be a really, really good peach. And then he said “May I?”, and reached down. And squeezed my peach.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually let men I just meet squeeze my peaches.
I’m just not that kind of girl.
In the end, NOT worth two dollars.