So over in the land of Tiny Town, I saw something today that I did not like one bit. A man, well embedded in his middle-life era, wearing dress trousers, a button down shirt and manflops. Manflops are flip-flops that men would wear – more rugged than girlie flip-flops, but definitely not in the sandal’s category. Manflops.
The only place those would have been appropriate would be if we worked in a surf shop or a beach bar. Or any place in Key West.
We don’t work at RonJon. It’s Tiny Town. Put some shoes on.
How do I safely travel the long distances to work and back each day? Why, I’ve got the Dolly Lama with me:
We had a most fantastical dinner tonight at our fave Mexican restaurant. We sat outside on their beautiful new patio. And ordered our fave tortilla soup. Like a couple of dickheads. Because we were outside, in an Africa-hot evening: 95 degrees.
Yes, soup please! Over here! For the two dickheads on the patio, por favor!
And then I wondered why I had suddenly finished my Tecate beer so quickly.
The restaurant has also started price gouging, which I’m not too happy about. Before, you could buy two peppermint patties at the register for a quarter. Now? They’re gouging at a quarter each.
Kenny ate his and decided, “That didn’t taste like a quarter, it tasted more like fifteen cents.”
On the way home from the hot and pricey Mexican dinner, I spotted this personalized license plate:
XX 300 XX
Me: “Do you think he was on the Biggest Loser, weighed 300 lbs and was a double-x?”
Me again: “Get alongside him so I can see how big he is, or if he has saggy skin or looks like someone on t.v.”
Kenny: “Or. Perhaps he bowled a perfect game.”
Or that, I guess.