Monday Hijinx

So there I am at the new Whole Foods in Encinitas, minding my own business, when the new age do-gooder decides to stick her nose in. I was finishing up a little private conversation with the cheesemeister regarding the relative merits of the domestic and french (non-pasteurized) cantal when Miss Priss opens her yap.

"You don't have any smoked duck breast, do ya?" I asked the young steward of fromage. "No", he tells me, "but I'll put in on my list." I tell him that it still causes me pain that Whole Foods has stopped carrying the duck legs confit, which they once carried as a twofer and then a three pack and was a staple of our young urban professional diet. "Corporate decided they didn't like the way they were treating the ducks," he lets on.

I guess I chortled and then Miss Buttinski let me have it with her two cents worth. "It's just awful how they force feed those poor ducks." I winced and corrected her. "That's fois gras lady, these canards are merely rendered in their own fat."

She sniffed at me in her know nothing condescending way and I was starting to get steamed, like the whole tilapia fish in garlic at my favorite dim sum restaurant, Jasmine. "You think those chickens you eat are on some kind of honeymoon, sister? The cow in the feedlot ain't on its way to any picnic either."

She gave me that superior North County coastal look and let on that she doesn't eat any red meat.

"Well it's no honeymoon for the fish either, I got news for you,"I tells her.

"They're a lower life form, not a mammal,"she intoned. I thought about letting on that neither was a duck but I had invested far too much time already with this paragon of human virtue and kept my mouth shut. But I finally couldn't resist zapping her with my hole card.

"You ever read the Secret Life of Plants (1973 - Tompkins and Byrd)? Scientists attach metering devices to plants and send a control group through. One scientist kills a plant. A bunch of people subsequently parade past the plants. The plant murderer comes in the room and the poor flora have a collective heart attack. If you had a heart you'd stop eating salad. Plants have feelings too, you know?"

At this point the broad decided to ignore me. Last thing I knew I watched the self described vegetarian eating a free piece of salami, offered by the deli man. I am not too proud to admit that I might have publicly called her out on her carnivorous indiscretion.

***

My friend Brett came late to smoking, taking the nasty habit up on the wrong side of fifty. Brett's back is in sad shape and the new orthopod says that if he gives up the nicotine it will improve the chances for a successful surgery by forty per cent.

Brett has tried patches and gum and tapering but is having a tough go stopping.

"I know," I offered. "Every time you want a smoke, drop your pants, take matters in hand and pleasure yourself instead. Substitute a different pleasure response for that marlboro buzz. Basic Skinnerian behavior modification. Might need to exercise a little discretion, depending on your geographic locale."

He looked at me and deadpanned,"Won't work. I always have to have a cigarette after I have sex."

***