  Natural, Shua and Truck got a kick out of this story the other night. So I thought I'd share it. We were headed to my nephew's first birthday party, which was more of an adult party really, since I was ordered to pick up more beer and ice. I stop in this liquor store in Eagan (where my sister-in-law and brother-in-law now live) and pick up the requisit beer and four small bags of ice as instructed. (K was worried the big bags wouldn't fit in his freezer. ) While I'm waiting, the owner of said liquor store comes up behind me. "You know, it'd be cheaper to buy one big twenty pound bag. " He's a potbellied biker sort of guy with a Waylon Jennings haircut and lots of tattoos.
"Yeah," I mumble, "my brother-in-law wants small bags. He's worried they won't fit in his freezer..." At this point the guy looks me straight in the eye, like I've just insulted his family and if I say one more word he's going for the baseball bat behind the counter. " That doesn't make any sense ," he says. It's like I'm looking at a biker Clint Eastwood. I'm waiting for him to say, "Any-a-you don't want your asses kicked, best get on out of here.
" What he does say, in an equally cold tone, is, "Twenty pounds of ice is twenty pounds of ice, right ? " I just mumbled something about following instructions and dutifully turn around and get the one big bag of ice. 
