Dear Boorish Dude at the "Lakewood-High-End-Healthy-Grocery-Store,"

It was bustling, wasn't it, being Sunday and all?  

Your comrades in need of free-range eggs and artisanal cheeses multiplied before you as you scurried about.  More choices of organic vegetables and soy/almond/coconut milks than your thirty-something year-old brain could hack assaulted you at every angle.  Addled with the fear of forgetting something important like locally crafted ant repellent, you hopped like an antibiotic free chicken when a check out lane opened and the clerk motioned a woman -- myself -- who had been waiting in line for ten minutes to her register.

As I maneuvered my cart toward her smiling face, you swept in front of me and butted your vegan comestibles and naturally prepared dinner for two across the conveyor belt.  I couldn't help but share my profound thanks in allowing me to practice my best ladylike behavior toward you.  

Your muttered apology without eye contact and whiny excuse of a hungry wife returning from a trip combined with the insincere thanks you tossed my way were so manly and capable, I can only imagine what a content woman you have at home.  She must thrill at your suave chivalry.  You must get laid a lot.  Good for you!

Arriving in the parking lot, I saw a woman cursing, scraping gum from her shoe before entering her vehicle.  I hate to think it was yours, carelessly spat out as you leaped into your Porsche SUV, but sadly, I can't help it.  Birds of a feather and all.

Hope the dinner worked out well,

the (most of the time) polite rebel