Yet Another Open Letter

In the same vein as another smarty pants blogger I'm putting out this open letter.

Dear Hungry Hippo Crowd at my Local Farmer's Market,

The Farmer's Market. Just saying it brings to mind fresh produce, the open air, and a fun, relaxing way to spend a morning. I go often and always feel happy for the rest of the day. I have locally grown, pesticide-free food in my house and it usually still has the dirt on it from the farm. I love that, I really do. I even love the little bread company that draws such immensely huge crowds that buying a snickerdoodle takes fifteen minutes.

The immensely huge crowds with the cantankerously rude and impatient Sunday ogglers. I'm drawn to the big loaves of bread, rustic and charming. The giant cookies and tasty muffins just baked that morning. However, like any good little addict once I head to my dealer problems can arise. Problems like you annoying Hungry Hippos who knock a woman with a full stroller out of line. You people (oh yeah, I just said you people) who push your change heavy fanny packs into my back to get me out of your way. The woman who feels it's perfectly ok to suffocate my kid by shoving her plastic bag in my kids face. As my Mom would say, "Watch it Buster!" Oh lady there's a special place for you and it's NOT the front of the bread line!

What I really love the most about all you "little" Hungry Hippos is how helpful y'all are. When the nice lady trying to pay, you know the one who didn't knock anyone out of line, has her stroller fall backwards onto the hot asphalt nearly knocking her child senseless you should STOP AND HELP instead you just gasp and nudge me out of line. Gee thanks! I appreciate how you failed to see my fruit rolling to your Ked ensconced feet. I love how I really felt the community love when I simultaneously uprighted the stroller, my kid, and our purchases and no one even asked, "Is she alright?" as she wailed on and on. Nope. You only asked, "What's in the apple cookie?"

Hmmm.... maybe APPLES?!

I know you saw me, I was scrabbling at our ankles picking up my patti-pan squash. I know that next time I see you in line and your melon rolls out of your bag or you drop an ear of corn I will graciously pick it up and help you. I'll even smile. Why? Because I'm trying to make this planet better even if I had to write this open letter to vent. That is after all the point of the Farmer's Market. Now go by your cookies at Safeway where you belong!