There’s a tendency to blame everything on planets. I can do that. “Trust me, I’m a professional.”
The other attendees were inclined to blame the rain. Me? I like whatever is there.
“Kramer, if you go up on your prices, you’ll have to do it in pesos.”
Or, I could start accepting farm animals.
Dinner, one evening, don’t ask, I don’t recall, the hot sauce was derived from Arboles Chilis, and the song was a sad, dolorous tune about something, “See?” I said, “they’re singing our song.”
“Yeah Kramer,” roll of the eyes, “he’s lamenting her death.”
Interlude:
Robin approached.
“Hey, que paso?” I drawled.
“No, it’s ‘El Paso.’ And no cheese, so it’s not con queso.”
Back at work:
“Yes,” I’ve explained this countless times before, “there are only two dates that your guy should never, ever forget, Feb. 14 and,” I paused and looked at the astrology chart, peered at the DoB, “and (your birthday). Two dates out of the whole year, it’s that simple.”
And if it didn’t evade so many males? I’d be out of work.
