Lori-Anne peaches

—“You are my second friend-contact at this store today,” I said to ****** at my supermarket’s self check-out.
“Number-one was ******, I said.
“******,” ****** said. “Your favorite Wegmans employee.”
“She is not!” I snapped.
“You know who my favorite employee is at this store?” I said.
“It’s you!” I said, pointing at her.
She blushed and bopped me.
Readers, I think she actually believed what I said.
“With you I’m at ease. I have to be careful with ****** lest I not be perceived a lonely hot-to-trot widower.
****** looks young, like she’s probably not married yet.
My wife died over nine years ago, so now you stand in for her.
You’re someone I can talk to.
And you’ll notice I mentioned my wife’s passing without crying,” at which point I started crying as always.
I think ****** understood: “this guy really cared about his wife.”
“My wife was flat incredible,” I whimpered.
“44&1/2 years she put up with me, although her mother messed her up almost as bad as me.
So my wife could forgive my madness. Her mother was a pill.”
“Lori-Anne peaches?” I exclaimed.
“So take ‘em back,” ****** said.
“Are you sure?” I said.
****** canceled my Lori-Anne peaches.
“Too mushy!” I said.
“Sounds like you’re an authority on peaches,” ****** said.
No Lori-Anne peaches for this kid!