No thanks, creepy butcher-shop guy

The ear doctor's class ended earlier than usual last night, so we decided to take full advantage and spend the entire evening together. This meant that when the ear doctor wanted to go to his favorite store (not costco....his other favorite), I gladly acquiesed. We pulled up to our local butcher shop, W@lly's quality meats. This place is a great source for some kickin cuts of meat, and since the ear doctor has recently become a meat-smokin fanatic, we find ourselves there a lot.

Confidently, the ear doctor sidled up to the refrigerated meat case and authoritatively asked for a couple of pork steaks. I thought to myself, "I've never in my life heard of pork steaks...but the ear doctor is the grillmaster of our house, so I don't question."

The butcher, our new best friend, pulled out two of the world's thickest pork chops, looked up at us and asked if we were from Iowa.




Hmmm.



Total blank stare on my part. I looked down at what I was wearing to see if there was any kind of state-affliliation emblems on my outfit. Nothing denoting any specific locale. Not that there is anything wrong with Iowa, I was just surprised that I seemed to be giving off an "Iowa" vibe.

He then went on to explain that the cut of meat was asked for were sometimes called Iowa-chops because a lot of mid-westerners really like it. Who knew?




It was about this time that a VERY ragged looking gentlemen sauntered into the shop. Long, greasy strings of hair issued from under is cock-eyed trucker hat. It was during my double take that I realized the jar of marinade in his hand wasn't in fact the can of PBR that seemed to make more sense.

We paid, said a warm farewell to the butcher and before we left I made a joke about living so close to the store. The aforementioned gentlemen took this as an invitation to come on over and dine with us that night. Toothily grinning, he lumbered over and said, "What time's dinner then?"



Um, I really don't think so, bud.