One Day Only – The Amazing Old Macdonald

“Buying for one, eh?”

This from the wizened old man ringing up my purchase at the local “farmer’s market.” The inner monologue in my head who, like Dave Foley in one episode of the Kids in the Hall, has a speech impediment where it can only speak in a sarcastic tone, goes something like, “yes and thank you for pointing it out to me. I had not noticed that I’m so very single. Completely escaped my notice. How kind of you to make me aware. To think I’ve lived all this time without realizing my singleness.” Instead I give a jovial face, giggle and admit, “yes, indeed, I’m buying for one. Ha-ha-ha, you caught me red-handed being single! Isn’t it so funny?” Old MacDonald then says “I can always tell.” The tell-tale shopping list of one so obviously single? Two squash(es?), two onions, one cucumber, one quart of mini-peaches, and a partridge in a pear tree. Old Macdonald is a freaking oracle, able to see deep within the soul of a customer and divine their marital status or lack thereof… Seeing as all the other patrons were buying up produce in the quantities of dozens or more he should change his name to The Amazing Old Macdonald.

I’m at this “farmer’s market” because of a renewed vigor for all those New Year’s resolutions I made 7 months ago and haven’t kept. One of the big ones was eating healthier/lose weight. You can decode this as “I don’t want to be a fat bridesmaid and most certainly not THE biggest bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding in September.” In a moment of fancy, I convinced the dress shop to order my dress in a size down from what they recommended, fairly sure that they wanted me to order a too big dress so that they could milk me in alterations later. And I was fairly sure that even the smaller size was going to end up being too big by the time I got the dress. Of course I was going to lose a remarkable 40-50 pounds in the couple of months it took for the dress to come in and would have to have half the dress cut out. And then at the wedding, I would be the second most striking creature after the bride and have my pick of the single men… I’ve accomplished half my goal. I will be the most striking creature at the wedding… If by creature you mean water buffalo.

Now that the dress has arrived at the bridal shop I’m sweating bullets hoping that it just fits. While I’ve lost a little weight I haven’t lost nearly as much as in the alternate reality above that was playing in my head when I made the decision to downsize.

But I digress. Although I’ve lived in my cute little single gal’s apartment in a cute little modern day Mayberry for almost a year, this is the first time I’ve visited my local “farmer’s market.” On this particular Saturday, when I would normally let myself sleep until noon because I stayed up until all hours reading an entire book (in this instance a trashy romance novel), I set my alarm for 9 a.m. so that I could visit said “farmer’s market” and buy all sorts of fresh things to put in that bottom drawer of the fridge that’s usually empty except for a couple of garlic cloves that have morphed into a NASA-level science experiment.

The morning got off to a great start as I only snoozed the alarm once (I suffer from Frequent Snoozernoia) and didn’t even wait for it to go off again before getting out of bed and heading out into town, hitting the local coffee shop for my regular dose of caffeine and then heading off to discover the new (to me), wonderful and all-powerful “Farmer’s Market,” envisioning stall after stall of jewel-like shiny, glistening, fresh-picked produce. Old Macdonald would be dressed in denim overalls with a red plaid shirt under, a straw hat on is head and a piece of straw sticking out the side of his mouth. Or maybe he would be in Mennonite gear.

The “Farmer’s Market” was all of two stalls. Having never visited before I don’t know if this was due to it being a holiday weekend or if the “farmer’s market” is normally all of two stalls, Old Macdonald the Oracle’s and another where I guilted myself into buying a $7 loaf of bread. Being one of five patrons and having spent considerable time looking at the surprisingly expensive cheese, bread, fish and meat price list, I felt bad leaving without buying SOMETHING. I didn’t have the need for fresh mozzarella and while the Tortilla-crusted tilapia sounded appetizing, I didn’t want to spend $22 on four fillets, especially because, as Old Macdonald pointed out, I’m single as all hell and unless I had a dinner party would take forever to get through four tilapia fillets – I get bored with food easily. And so I bought a $7 loaf of bread. Best be some damn good bread.

After all was said and done with this venture to the “farmer’s market” I’m left with my single gal’s produce booty (including scary, fresh-from-the-ground onions – have you ever seen these?), a $7 loaf of bread from Balthazar Bakery, and the hope that I didn’t touch too many things in and around the apartment on my way in before having a chance to wash my hands. As a nail-biter, all I need is to touch something that I left invisible traces of farmer’s dirt on and end up with a coven of pinworms or other such parasites living in my colon.

Note to self: Next time I visit the “farmer’s market,” bring along anti-bacterial WetOnes and use them right after purchasing the fresh-from-the-dirt produce so that later I don’t have to wonder if my mom would pick pinworms out of my butt like she did for my oldest sister 20 years ago.