I frequent a gourmet store in my neighborhood. It’s actually the one I wrote about in Notes of A Working Cat. The cashier, I called Carmen, likes to sneak little gifts into my handbag having a habit of leaving it on the counter as I forage for food, to be found later.
I was in Joe Fresh buying cheap sandals. My vintage Kate Spade mail bag is like the Bermuda Triangle, so as I dig for my wallet I could easily find oil, Atlantis and maybe even Amelia Earhart.
The woman patiently waiting to ring me up looked at all the contents spilling onto the counter finally saying, “Um, is that an avocado in your purse?”
“Yes,” I said, “I believe it is. Is Discover okay?”