The other day we made a family grocery trip.  As we were checking out our 8,000 items, the cashier complimented the little angel's faux-fur, leopard-print jacket.  I smiled, since it was the second time that day a cashier had been drawn to it.  The little angel, she is a diva.

This cashier, however, didn't stop. The first one said something about how her little girl had a coat just like it in 1968.  This cashier said also that her little girl had one when she was the little angel's age, but now that she's three, she just can't find any that fit.  Then we got talking about the muffs we apparently both had when WE were little girls.

"Well, little girls love their fur," I said absent-mindedly.

The cashier pulled herself up to her full height (she was pretty tall).  "Yes, we do," she said.  "Umm-hmmm, and those PETA people, I can't believe they throw paint on fur."

"Oh, well, hmmm," I said, not really wanting to talk politics with the cashier.

"You don't ever see them coming in the urban areas," she continued, slamming the groceries across the scanner.  "My grandmother has a fur coat, and I wear it sometimes."

"That's great," I said, trying to hurry her along.

The cashier looked at the little angel again, smiling.  "If someone threw paint on my granny's fur coat, I'd cut 'em," she said.

My mouth dropped open.  I looked over at my beloved, who was staring at Star Magazine, shoulders shaking. I thought I saw a tear creeping down one cheek. 

"Wow," I said.

As we were walking out of the store, we burst into laughter.  "Well," said my beloved, "at least she's descriptive.  It would be interesting to see animal activitists take on the urban core."

Yes, I guess it would.  I'm not sure who I'd be rooting for, but I bet it would be a hell of a fight.