Old goats

We've adopted a new habit of getting up early on a Saturday morning and going somewhere chilly. Last week an ice rink, and this week...

Indian Ladder Farms is still closed for the season, but the Girl is pals with the manager and got herself an invitation to go and feed the animals.  Of course, she was especially keen to see the beloved goats.  She and I were there by 8am.  Really it was her treat so I drove off for an hour and left her having a lovely time stomping around with buckets of water in the cold and mud as (can you believe it?) snow fell.

I took refuge in the nearest supermarket.  As I was trundling up and down the aisles picking up some groceries, a bloke cruised by and tried to pick up...me!!

"What's a fine young lady like you doing single?"
Really?
"Erm, I'm not single," was my oh-so witty retort.
"Can't blame a guy for asking," said the bloke, scooting away.

Beardy bloke (looked quite a lot like this goat).  The sort that plays the banjo in a folk band, drives a pick-up truck and lives in the woods.  Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with any of those things.  Except the beardiness - bleugh, no thank you.

But, am I missing something here?  Had I inadvertently stumbled into "singles morning" in the Voorheesville Hannaford's tea and coffee aisle?