I don’t pay much attention to the cost of individual grocery items.

But my wife does. So when a cashier rang up a tomato she had selected, my spouse was stunned.

She asked the cashier to confirm what she had just seen with her disbelieving eyes.

And, yes, it was $4.22. For one, not especially large tomato.

It was a locally grown, heirloom variety. But still.

The price had not been displayed on the bin from which my wife selected it. So this came as a sticker shock.

The cashier, who seemed to share my wife’s incredulity, offered to delete the purchase. But my wife waved her off. By this point, I suspect she was curious about how a $4.22 tomato might taste.

I’m sure the reason she picked it in the first place was the fact I simply would not shut up about some life-changing tomatoes I purchased at an Italian market outside Detroit a couple of weeks ago. You might say I seemed to regard them as a religious experience.

On the way home from the store, my wife wondered what her child-of-the-Depression mother would think of paying $4.22 for a single tomato. Shudders.

I speculated that perhaps this particular tomato was soothingly read to while on the vine. Or nurtured with gentle affirmations and softly spoken encouragement. Or perhaps serenaded with Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony.

The thing is, I have long regarded having a four-star tomato as being an essential part of any summer. And somehow that Michigan produce didn’t really count.

So the $4.22 treasure was cut up and put into a salad that very evening.

The verdict? It was pretty darned good. Just don’t tell my mother-in-law we paid $4.22 for a single tomato.

Today’s Slice question: What’s your favorite child-having-a-tantrum story?

I ask because of something witnessed just last week. Our friendly neighbor across the street was on her porch, about to go in the front door. She had several kids in tow, one of whom was pitching a high-volume fit.

We were coming out of our garage and our neighbor paused from her child wrangling/door opening to exchange waves with us. Her young son, the one having the meltdown, had the decency to momentarily suspend his remonstrations. Then, when our adult interaction was completed, he resumed his vocal protest, though with a little less steam.

Write The Slice at P. O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210; call (509) 459-5470; email pault@spokesman.com. Ever had the feeling you offended someone by not caring about a topic that is an all-consuming interest to that individual?