Couscous ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson ...

Today I was at Whole Foods, filling a plastic bag with a bulk supply of couscous and holding a cucumber. The bag slipped and pound after pound of little beige beads came pouring out of the spout. It was like winning the jackpot at a slot machine. Except it was couscous. All over the floor.

I believe this is what the kids call "making it rain."

It seems like I stood there watching it, transfixed, for a really long time. Then I shook the shop with a loud "Shit!" I'd bled out about $4 worth of couscous.

Since my hands were full, I had to use my snout to hit the lever to make it stop. My snout. That is the only word for one's nose when you use it as a third hand. This felt barbaric. A woman came to my rescue. I stood there dumbly as she filled my plastic bag. Apparently my reflexes rival that of an underwater baseball player.

There was seriously couscous in my shoes. If I know my feet, it was optimal conditions for cooking the little granules.

This isn't the sort of thing that usually embarrasses me. But every time I picture myself trying to shut off the lever with my nose, I cringe. I have the shames. I'm going to have to start going to Cub Foods until I wear off the burn.