AT THE PISTACHIO STORE

At a pistachio store which abuts a pistachio orchard, I overheard this conversation.  Young mother calling to her young son, about four, as they are leaving the pistachio store.  He is at the edge of the orchard.

“Son, come on let’s go.”

The son is staring down at the ground then picks something up and rushes to his mom.  Did he find a baby bird?  A horned toad?  A pistachio seed?

“Look Mom.  I want to take this with me.”

“Son, it’s an ordinary rock.”

“Mom, I want it.”

There’s a long pause.  “Okay.  Put it in the back.”

Dad is in the SUV.  He opens his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say it.  We’ll toss it out later.”

Who says nothing interesting happens when traveling.

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