a single man goes to market

Now, you would never guess that I wanted my own cooking show. As a kid, after school, I would race up hill 20 yards from the bus stop, drop my books(we had no book bags in those old days), fix two slices of peanut butter toast and watch the last 15 minutes of Galloping Gourmet(It preceded my favorite show with the masked-man and grunting Indian). I would be a little nervous that he'd look into the camera and choose me to taste his creation. But I couldn't because one of the ingredients always seemed to be wine. I guess that's where the Galloping came from...I don't know.

But I can't cook. Not a lick. So if it's prepackaged and shipped overseas from Mesoslovokistan, it's in my dark-caverned freezer waiting to become edible after the full eleven minutes on my revolving micro turntable. It's not so bad. The revolving turntable ensures that the steak from somewheres called Salisbury (a Steak Farm perhaps!?) will be fully cooked and look just as tasty as the picture on the box. If I squint.

Once in a while at the market I will venture off the path and peer down into the freezers for bagged vegetables. But there's no micro instructions listed and I must look thoroughly serious and perplexed. Or morose - like looking down into a coffin at a funeral. Gosh he really looks good. But couldn't they've made that smirk on his face more of a smile? And, he looks so good for having lived alone and survived to the ripe old age of 49 on frozen fake dinners!

The gray-haired pony-tailed checkout lady with missing teeth skimmed the frozen dinners over the price scanner with the same hardened concentration of an assembly line worker at a ball bearing plant. Her eyes widened with astonishment as time stopped and she held the clear plastic bag of eggplant at eye level like a new born baby and that first slap.