VerbatimGloria and I went out to dinner on Sunday night.
"Did I tell you what happened to me at Target today?" I asked.
"I don't think you did," she said.
"I'm at the counter," I said, "and the checkout lady goes, 'Are you a doctor'?" [and from here on, I'm going to quote this like the conversation with the checkout lady is happening live, which is against all known grammatical conventions, but a hell of a lot easier to read.]
"No," I say.
Fifteen seconds later, the checkout lady says, "Lawyer?"
Again, I said 'no'.
Twenty seconds later: "Congressman?"
Just before she handed me my change: "Judge?"
"No," I said, "and I only regret that I never fulfilled any of the high hopes you had for me."
Gloria laughed, then she said, "That lady was flirting with you."
"She was six-foot-three, fifty, and had buck teeth," I said. "That's what I'm pulling these days."
"I forgot to tell you that a man in his sixties was hitting on me in the grocery story the other day," she said.
"No worries," I said. "You still absolutely qualify as a MILF."
"Thank you, I think," she said. "He really was a very sweet old man."
"They all are," I said, "until they get you into their dirty little dungeon."
"Just imagine him wearing leather underwear," I said. "That's ALL he's wearing. And his potbelly is is hanging over."
"Oh my god," she said, laughing.
"And the age spots on his scalp," I said. "Don't forget those. Hey, I think I see Cuba!"