I found Mr. Scoop asleep in his clothes on my couch this morning. After I convinced him that I wasn't a cop, he blinked at me for a few minutes. Then he said, "I flew a Lear Jet at high speeds last night with my co-pilot, Jack Daniels. I was attacked by F-18s. They had missles." He nodded to himself as he told me the story. "You fell asleep playing GTA: San Andreas again, didn't you", I replied. It wasn't really a question. I continued, "Oh, by the way - I'm pregnant." I barely got to "April Fools!" before he started hyperventilating. He locked eyes with me meaningfully. "It might have been F-Us", he muttered.
It seemed prudent to get Mr. Scoop into fresh air at this point, despite his pleas that "Sunlight brings pain!" There's a diner up the street that makes a mean chili omlette and doesn't mind if you smell funny and pay in pennies. It is frequented by college students and the elderly.
What could have happened the evening before to bring Mr. Scoop to such a state? Well, it doesn't take much of an excuse, really. We kicked off things with a beer tasting sponsored by Berkshire Brewing Company. Mr. Scoop spent a good half hour practicing his social skills in the mirror before we left: "Why, yes, I'd like to try your IPA. Thank you. My gosh, you're right. It is..full of hoppy goodness!" Despite this, the first thing he did when we got to the store was march up to the beer rep, vigorously shake his hand and tell him, "Your coffee porter is so damn good I shit myself! No, really! Say, you pigs got any food in this joint? Why, yes I'm drunk! Why do you ask?"
He spent the rest of the tasting in the car.
I did.. sample the beers. They had a range of beers available from a very light Extra Pale Ale to an incredibly roasty, nutty Porter. All of it was tremendous. We took home an assorted case by way of apology to the nice lady at the cash register.
The rest of the evening consisted of high end beer, pizza and Batman Beyond. It was sometime after I went to bed and passed out that Mr. Scoop got into the Jack Daniels and madness ensued.
Back to this morning: After a thorough refueling with caffiene, grease and Tabasco, we hit the grocery store across the street. I had decided to make meatloaf, and we needed supplies. This particular grocery store is one of those high end Hannaford's that is full of obscure veggies, sushi and bulk, organic foodstuffs.
"Kumquats!" exclaimed Mr. Scoop. Immediately, I knew I'd made a mistake. "Kumquats!" He began to finger the produce. I pulled him away from the fruit stand. "Indoor voice", I hissed. He calmed down, but not for long. As I was gathering some maroon carrots, he wandered away from me again. From two aisles of vegetables over he yelled to me, "Ooooo! What's a jackfruit?" There was entirely too much glee in his voice. I found him and put the thing back on the cart. "It is not.. a masturbatory aide", I told him.
I can never get out of the grocery store without buying some item from the produce section that the cashier can't identify or find on their handy PLU # chart. Never. While we waited for her to get some kind of price check on the phone, I watched as the same manager walked by no fewer than four times refusing to make eye contact and help out, as the line in back of us in the Express Lane began to grow exponentially. So, I did the only thing I could do to expedite the process. I sent Mr. Scoop back to the produce section.
Within moments, a very perturbed older woman with a name tag that read "Iris" came back to the register pulling Mr. Scoop along by the ear. "Does this belong to you", she demanded of me. I looked at Mr. Scoop. He shrugged helplessly, "I asked her if she'd give me a price check on my exotic purple carrot." "You need to stop scratching your balls in public when you ask people questions," I told him. "It makes people suspicious."
"The carrots are $.99 for the bunch. Just ring the damn thing up", Iris yelled at the cashier before stalking off back to Produce Central. I knew the carrots were $2.99, but I wasn't saying anything at this point. I thought it would be a good idea to make a quick getaway. It was time to get Mr. Scoop home.
Sunlight had, in fact, brought pain...or at least aggravation, to Iris the Produce Magistrix.
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