The Hippie Hideout in Sackville (N.B.) has become part of my Cambridge-Narrows to Halifax commute. It's hard to believe that I once issued a fatwa against them. It just goes to prove that forgiveness is part of my vocabulary, though Mr.Horton shouldn't look for it anytime soon.
The Hippie Hideout has a real name; the Bridge Street cafe. I prefer Hippie Hideout (HH), because that's what it is. I've never seen a bridge on Bridge Street, so there. I was unaware that the HH had a farmer's market within the cafe every Saturday, but I was delighted to find it. It's not really farmers that exhibit their wares, given that the woman who I bought my Indian lunch from was wearing a sari. Try driving a tractor in a sari...I did. It was a disaster.
I stepped up to my sari wearing friend, looked at her offerings and pointed to what I wanted. I had no idea what I was ordering, but it looked and smelled great. She scooped a couple of MLOs (meatball looking objects) into a styrofoam container, then she put an oversized spoon into a container of rice, looked at me and said "penis okay?"
I paused, as I often do in situations like this. My immediate thought was to reply 'he's fine, sleeping at the moment', but I held back. There was quite a commotion in the HH; lots of chattering granolas. A two piece band was playing in the front of the cafe. I could barely hear myself think, let alone come up with a reply to her question. I wondered if perhaps I had misheard her. I leaned down to get closer. She was not a tall woman and I sometimes have trouble hearing short people in noisy rooms. She had a thick Indian accent and was very soft spoken. The lag in my response prompted her to repeat herself.
I looked into the rice container and identified some peanuts. I thought they were june bugs, so you can imagine my relief.
"Yes, peanuts okay," I replied.