A Dill in the Life

A portly, grizzled, older Jewish guy, belly straining against a striped white button-down shirt, standard drab gray and black coat/pants/and so on, faces a prematurely gray mocha-latte-skinned dancer-boy-bodied Trader Joe’s cashier with gorgeous smile. Both gaze at a large glass jar of sliced pickles on the counter between them without saying a word. Then:
Jewish Guy, with NYC/Eastern European accent: “She likes pickles.”
Cashier: “Your wife likes pickles.”
Jewish Guy: “She loves pickles. Always pickles.”
Cashier: “When you go shopping, you can’t come home unless you bring the pickles, right?”
Jewish Guy: “The shopping could be ALL pickles.”
And scene.

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