She quickly found me in produce and beckoned me to come back and see it. I retraced my steps and took a look. How could I have missed it?
I whipped out my camera and took a photograph.
"I wonder why they have a dating policy," I said.
My wife bent over to study the sign as I took off to try to find someone to ask.
"Wait a second," my wife might have called after me.
When she found me, I was already interviewing a customer, a well-dressed, professional-looking woman who might have come by on her way home from a law office or an architect's. Surely she would know.
"What is this dating program that Mac has?" I asked her.
The woman looked puzzled. "Dating program?"
"Oh, did I say 'program'?" I said. "I meant policy. What do you know about the store's dating policy?"
"Hmm," she said, "it's pretty much the usual, I think."
"Wait a second," my wife said.
"What do you mean," I said to the woman, "do other stores in town have dating programs—er, policies"?
"Oh, I think so!" said the woman.
"Gosh," I said. "What is it about Woodstock that its stores promote dating—what?—among their staff members? With customers?"
The woman didn't seem to be following me.
"Wait a second," my wife said.
The woman had turned her attention to my wife. She looked ready for our conversation to be interrupted.
"What is it?" I said to my wife.
"Excuse us," my wife said to the woman, and took a hold of my near elbow and pulled me back the way we had come.
"Follow me," my wife said.
"But—" I said, "I was about to get to the bottom of this."
"No, you weren't," my wife said. "Just follow me."
I followed her.
Apparently she was taking me back to the dating sign.
"Read the rest of it," my wife said.
I looked at it again. "Yes," I said, "that's it. So what?"
"Down here," she said, pointing to the lower half of the sign.
I looked again. "Oh," I said.
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