It was Tuesday, and I had to go shopping. The Bride was home and awake, so I didn't have to take the baby. I love taking the baby with me when I shop because I love the attention. I have a fancy leather strap that I use to hold her, with a couple of chains. It looks kind of mean and gothic, but the baby loves it. It gets even better when I start talking about my boyfriend. But not today.
“Don't forget to pick up a binkie.” The Bride said as I grabbed my keys.
“We need another binkie? Don't we have something like sixteen already?” The baby chirped in agreement. She was quite content in the baby trampoline that we bought at a garage sale a few weeks ago.
No, we don't have a blue one.”
I looked at the Bride. “Um, I don't think the colors make them taste different.”
“No,” She said. “It's a brand—spelled B-L-U. They're not actually blue.”
“What color are they?”
“I don't know. I just know they're called Blu. If you can't get them at the grocery store, so you'll have to go to the babypolloza place.”
So I went to the grocery store first to pick up some essentials needed for dinner that night. I looked at the selection of binkies, but didn't see the one the Bride wanted me to get. I did get a blue one anyway just because they might actually taste different.
My quest for dinner was suspended by a sampler. “Excuse me sir, would you like to try some emmenthaler? It's made from ostrich milk and sherry.”
I had to stop. “Ostrich milk? I didn't know ostriches had mammarys.”
“They have fathers, too.” The sample lady had bright red hair that was inadequately contained by an old hairnet.
“Yeah, I know. But they don't produce milk, either.”
“Sure they do. It's really good, too. We also have an ale infused Parmesan that's good on bratwurst. “ Her hair glinted vaguely metallic under the halogen track lights that were installed because they were fashionable. I was still trying to get used to the idea that grocery stores were fashionable.
“Bratwurst? Parmesan on bratwurst? That sounds like some hardcore marketing food. Anyway, it can't be ostrich cheese. Ostriches are birds—they don't have mammary glands. You know, udders.' I didn't want to point to her own personal set because that thought grossed me out.
“Sure they do—you can even see them on the package” She held up a package of bird cheese—and sure enough, there was a picture of an ostrich with teats hanging down.
I took the package to examine it closely, and realized that what I thought were teats were actually strategically placed feathers. A closer examination of the package indicated thats this was a cheese like product made from ostrich eggs.
I pointed out the strategically placed feathers. “It's not made from ostrich milk.” I said. “It's made from fermented ostrich beaks and shells.”
“What?” The sampler peered at the package in mt hand. “I've eaten almost full package.” She looked at me suspiciously. “That's not true.”
“Sure it is.” I turned the package over and pointed out the long list of ingredients on the back, starting with the bold black letters that sad 'This is a processed cheese type food product.' Her eyes adopted a vacant stare as she was confronted by the text.
“Oh. You said fermented? What's that?' Her voice seemed pitched higher in alarm.
"It's a process where they use bacteria to make alcohol. It's perfectly safe.”
“Alcohol? With bacteria? I can't eat this anymore!” She said. She began to take down her display.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I can't support that kind of product. It's an abomination and immoral."
Um...like the style of your writing.*_*
Posted by: Taobao buy | January 05, 2011 at 09:31 PM
i love tuareg lifes and their stories
Posted by: Taobao English site | January 28, 2011 at 01:34 AM