Personal entry: The farm supply is a great place to pick up….

Ed. Disclosure: This entry is not really food related (well, dog food I suppose), but I just had to share it with my friends who are reading this site. Part of the purpose of Almost Fit is documenting my life’s changes as I lose weight and get in shape, and while this truly has nothing to do with that, it is part of my life… OK OK, I’ll admit it: that last sentence is what is called, “a stretch.” This has nothing to do with Almost Fit. But hear me out.

This morning I had a little reminder of just how old I am (at least I HOPE it is age related).

To buy dog food I generally go to the farm supply store, which I did this morning after I dropped Jonah off at preschool. In fairness I looked kind of haggard – I was up until 2AM last night working to make a deadline, as I have been doing for a week now, so this morning I skipped the shower before I left in favor of a few more minutes of sleep.

At the farm supply store, in the dog food area there was an average mid to late teens-looking girl, stocking the dog food shelves. Let’s call her, “associate.”

Associate: “Can I help you find anything?”
J: “[distracted] – Uh, no…I’m fine, I think I found it.”
Associate: “What were you looking for?”
J: “Well I came here for dog food, but Wow – there are Chicks here!”
Associate: [with a teen look of what-everrrr on her face] “Uh, OK…?”
J: “Man I’ve gotta bring my son back here, he’ll love this!”
Associate, silent, eyebrows raised and looking away, presumably reaches for her pepper spray…
J: “Oh and my wife too!”

Realizing the tension, I grab the dog food and leave quickly.

Here’s the thing: there were horse troughs, right there, full of baby chickens and ducks, cheeping and hopping away. You know, CHICKS? On my way out of the store, dog food in hand, I thought to myself that had I instead said Gallus Domesticus Infantus, maybe I would have sounded less creepy, but I think in general using Latin names is in itself it’s own veritable creep-fest.

Ah, to be old and crusty among the young and naive.

There’s your Monday morning story.