Paula-Loves-Marla's Blog

Observations about Art, Movies, Books, etc.

The Art of Escape

My daughters and I were out the other night doing a little recreational shopping when one of them noticed that the Lowe’s had tomato plants for sale. After checking out the craft store, we walked down to the end of the very long strip center and waited patiently while she painstakingly considered each hybrid. She finally selected two and we went to the checkout area of the greenhouse. It was amazingly crowded for a Monday night in April so we decided to try the inside registers. As we walked past the main entrance a strange man waved at me. I assumed it was a case of mistaken identity and kept walking with my girls towards the register area.

He was not to be ignored however, and chased us down to talk to us about gardening….all kinds of gardening….and the proper way to plant tomatoes to increase the yield…and how to promote thicker stems…and on….and on…and on!

Seriously, all we wanted to do was buy a couple of plants which may or may not produce edible fruit. Hit and run. Simple. What in the world did we do to bring about this continuous verbal assault other than perpetrating plant purchasing?

I swear this man went on for at least a half an hour; probably closer to forty minutes while smiling and jabbering away at my pained and uncomfortable face.

Perhaps if I had not been so taken off guard by this random horticulture lecture, I may have been able to extricate myself from the rabid gardner. Alas, I stood there like a moron hoping for someone in a cape to swoop down and carry us to the register, pay for our plants and get us the hell out of there.

Anyway, the enthusiastic gardener finally released us from his Gardening 101, 102 & 104 lecture and we made our way to the self check out registers. These pernicious devices are popping up everywhere to the detriment of shoppers everywhere. There was not a live register attendent to be found and only two out of the four do-it-your-own-self stations were open. We got in the line with the other cattle and waited our turn (oh, if only we had stayed in the greenhouse), when an elderly gentleman got in line behind us. He noticed what my daughter was purchasing and crowed “Oh look! Tomato plants!”

We ignored him. We had learned our lesson. There is no graceful escape from a passionate gardener.


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