Is it just me or does anyone else feel guilty about eating baby spinach, given how undoubtedly brief their apparently mild and tender lives must have been?
Be that as it may, today I went shopping in order to buy a bag of the aforementioned green leafed comestible. No sooner had I left the shop however, the thought struck me that a second packet was in order, this being on account of how important it is on Valentine’s Day to make an effort in terms of the quality of the gift one bestows upon one’s own true love.
And so I returned to the store and soon found myself stood once more in front of the lady who had previously taken my money. She was surprised to see me back so soon but, cognisant that I had repeated my earlier salad-y selection, excitedly expressed her belief that I was Popeye.
Somewhat embarrassed by her mistake, I endeavoured to let her down gently but in so doing it was nonetheless inevitable that I would shatter her dreams and leave her both heartbroken and bereft.
Before I went on my way, however, I was at least able to console her with the fact that, due to my undeniably muscular physique, hers was an understandable error, one that has been made by a good many others before her.
Related autobiographical blogs, some more tongue in cheek than others:
To read ‘Two of a Kind’, click here
To read ‘Two photos both alike in dignity’, click here
To read ‘We went to the animal fair, the diary of novice grandparents’, click here
To read ‘A cricket tea kind of day’, click here
To read ‘Poor Imitations’, click here
To read ‘Three times a patient’, click here
To read ‘The Life I Lead’, click here
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