Not so much

Sometimes I think I might be the one that's...different. Does that ever happen to you? I was reading Emilie's post about spam poetry, the one kind, and it reminded of this Spam story that I meant to tell...no one really, but I need a post. So there.

I was pushing my cart down the aisle of the local Wal-Mart. I spend a lot of time there. I am happy there (unless there are people talking on their cells begging to be buggy-whipped). I don't know what is on which aisle in the grocery section. I know where the things that I buy live. So I was walking down this aisle of canned stuff, probably looking for canned tomatoes (I have a very short list of food stuffs that I buy. Diced tomatoes are usually on it. I heart pasta.) The retail fumes overcome me and I have to be careful or I buy things I don't even know how to use, but I'm fairly aware of my surroundings. The aisle is empty except for one gentleman holding a basket in his hand. I'm looking for my brand, my type, my mix in the wall of tomatoes and I hear him say, "Now that's interesting."

Finding what I need, I push on and pass by this man. He has not moved. He is standing in front of the shelf with Spam on it. That's all I see. Spam.

Clearly, he has a different definition for "interesting" than I do.