I like meat, but there was none in the house. So I went to get some. This is what happened while at the meat market one day.
The store in question was one of those rural stores that carries a little of everything, including meats. The meat counter did pretty well though and I could usually find something I liked. Not always, but most of the time.
A young woman ran the meat counter. At that time, she was learning as she went, and from time to time would mis-cut. But, all in all I never had any complaints about the cuts she sold me, or the prices.
Linda, (that was her name) and I used to flirt a bit over our transactions and we both enjoyed the puns involved with the business. It was always a friendly banter, and nobody took offense as we alluded to unspoken thoughts.
On this particular evening there was another woman at the counter talking with Linda, so I designed to wait quietly for my turn. I wasn't too surprised as I stood there waiting when the conversation between Linda and her female customer became, well, beyond riskee. I was, however, taken by surprise when Linda included me in their conversation. The topic was austensivly about meat tenderization methods, but the questions and comments were hardly about beef, when she asked, "How do you beat your .he meat?"
I stammered something, but I don't recall what it was; while I felt the blood rising, and my color change.
Linda told her customer, "Jon needs some help getting a handle on his meat."
The red headed woman at the meat counter suggested, "Maybe he'd like to cook his meat in my oven."
That did it, I walked away and made a circle around a display nearby, then stepped back to the meat counter and replied, "I like my meat cooked really slow, so it comes out moist and tender."
"The best way." replied the redhead. Linda was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she watched the redhead and I leave together, on our way to, "Cook our meat."
We did. Real slow.