Intrusion.

When did it become acceptable for vendors to comment on their patrons' purchases? I'd really love to know. In my younger days, I wouldn't have been at all surprised by this phenomenon. As a teenager, I had a constant fear that every time I bought tampons at my neighborhood supermarket, the cashier- who'd been working there since I was born- would make some remark about how I'd finally become a woman. Looking back, I might've preferred this to the comment that the new Senegalese cashier made on my last trip home from Boston- "tu es tres gros maintenant, non?"

Earlier today, I went to the Boston Beanery to pick up some lunch, a delightful coffeeshop in the North End that serves great paninis. I was already disgruntled at having discovered that my favorite sandwich- the Gobbler- had been discontinued. I guess I should've known that it was only a seasonal sandwich, as its main ingredients were turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. I decided to spring for the replacement sandwich and a bowl of clam chowder. I'd always found the guy behind the counter to be somewhat attractive- he has that bohemian, art student style that I love. As I ordered, he gave me a perplexed look, and asked, "is this all for you?"

I knew what was coming. "Yes...why?"

"You've got a big appetite."

I wanted to impale him. I've always somewhat prided myself in my love of food, and in my ability to consume mass quantities of it. I can put away a foot long meatball sub in one sitting, and I never order anything without asking for extra cheese. So I wasn't so much embarrassed as I was annoyed- for once, I thought I was being moderate. Soup and a sandwich seemed like a normal, balanced meal to me. You'd think that I'd ordered a sandwich and a burger. And even if I had, what was it to him? I was so tempted to ask if anyone had ever taught him to NEVER tell a girl that she eats to much; instead I asked, "isn't it better than being one of those exclusive salad eaters?" Honestly, I thought guys appreciated a girl who could eat. I think he realized his folly, but his attempt to atone for it only made matters worse. He started rambling about some hot dog eating contest- apparently if you eat 6 or more "dogs", you get your money back.

"You should sign up. You could probably win." He spoke with such innocent enthusiasm that I decided to just ignore this last comment and attribute it to nervousness. I changed the subject, and we actually ended up having a fairly decent conversation. But I was sure to avert my eyes away from everyone in line behind me as I walked out- soup and sandwich in tow, tail between my legs.