Stopping for plums on Henderson Valley Road the other day:
Me <parking bicycle and Jed>: Hi! I’d like some of your plums.
The Plum Man: How many bags?
Me: Just the one, thanks.
The Plum Man: Would you like two bags?
Me: Um, no thanks.
The Plum Man: If you’d eat them, you can have another bag. Free of charge.
Me: Oh! Oh, that’s terribly kind of you, but I have to cycle up the hill you see, and . . .
The Plum Man: So you’ll take two bags?
Me: Thank you, but no, really. I don’t want to carry too much weight or I’ll never get home-
The Plum Man: What if I put them in a box?
Me: I- I don’t- it’s just that- um- what?
The Plum Man: I’ll put them in a box for you.
Me: That’s- well, I’m sure they’ll be fine in my basket-
The Plum Man <looking horrified>: But they’ll get bruised! You can’t have that!
Me: Well, if you- if you think so . . .
The Plum Man <drops two bags of plums into an empty wine box, whereupon they promptly fall out the bottom>: Hmm. I’ll just tape up the bottom of it for you.
Me <scraping plum puree off the pavement>: Thanks.