Last Saturday, I strolled over to the St. Stephen's Farmers Market. I never buy anything. I eat all my meals out, but it's usually a good venue to walk around and spot nice-looking, nubile women buying something at the fruit stand. This gives me the opportunity to walk up to them, scour the top half of their feminine form, and then say something clever: "Wow, what nice melons!" If they give me "the look," I can always feign indignation. "I was referring to the cantaloupes over there. Geez!"
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