| As with the acquisition of the little composition books, my thinking was set regarding buying the gourmet pig ears. The purchase would be made; I just needed to pay for the pig ears and leave the store. They were priced at $3.49 for a matching set in a clear poly bag. I thought that I’d leave them there and then at the last moment, at the fourteenth minute, I’d saunter back to the hardware aisle and grab the gourmet pig ears labeled with a picture of a smiling dog standing next to a fire hydrant, and then shoot over to the pharmacy checkout counter and pay for my medicine, the two miniature composition books, and the pig ears. If I happened to see a neighbor or friend, I would not feel comfortable showing those two hairy pig ears as the product of my impulsive shopping spree. As a matter of fact, I was starting to feel somewhat apprehensive about plopping the pig ears down on the counter when it was my turn to check out. I began to visualize the scene at the cash register. Well, okay, the woman would say, one prescription with a copay of fifteen dollars, two teeny-weeny composition books at a dollar sixty-nine each, and—let’s see . . . what do we have here? (Her voice would get louder at this point.) Two dried-out, veiny, hairy, disgusting-looking pig ears. Will that be all, sir? The new me would say, Who cares what anybody really thinks or says or does? Words are just words and cannot affect me. Out of everything jam-packed into that store, I’d chosen the pig ears. I wanted to give them as a present to my kind pet Molly and see her happy, so I would just walk right up to the counter and boldly place them down with the two mini-books and proclaim, My name is Michael Domino. I’m here to pick up my prescription and pay for these items too! The cashier looked at the strange dead animal things in the clear package placed before her. Her gaze remained focused on the counter. “Do you think my kids will like those?” I say. “Excuse me?” replies the young woman. I explain myself. “I want to know if you think that my children will enjoy the pig ears as a little snack tonight.” I get no reply; she continues looking down, keeping her hands busy. “What? What do you think?” I say. “Will they be too salty for the kids?” “I don’t know, sir. Your total is twenty-three sixty-five. Please sign and check the green box, and thank you for shopping at our store. Good night,” she says hurriedly. “Good night,” I say. |