I was in Whole Food last night looking over some lovely chicken thighs. Next to me was an old crone, picking through the sad, denuded, flavorless chicken breasts. Glancing toward me, she espied my poultry choice and, lifting a bony finger she pointed the cursed digit at my selection. Her countenance twisted and her mouth curled as she hurled a filthy pox: "Full of fat! Full of fat," she shrieked, like the neolithic witch she was.

With my reflexes honed to a razor's edge, I took but an instant to reply, "Yes, that's why I'm buying them!" The hag recoiled speechless from this dazzling burst of reason and good sense, and hobbled off--no doubt to cook her fatless meat in a stinking cauldron--while I proceeded triumphantly to the cashier with my beautiful, fatty thighs (the chicken's, not mine).

What would you have said?

Btw, it's Friday afteroon. No one's around in my office and I'm feeling a little silly. Hope no one minds!