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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard: “I am all about the awkward transitions.” Wouldn’t that be fun on a tee shirt?

~~ He texted me that if I wanted to change the date, he was OK with that. “I’m flexible,” he wrote.  “Good,” I replied. “Inflexible people are often snappish.”

~~ The yoga teacher suggested we place our intention for the day (or our life) into our heart, where we would thereafter have an “intentional heart.” I love this concept.

~~ I’m editing a story on an event with the partial title “Dock Day.” My editing software objected and wanted to substitute “Dick Day.” Excuse me? Anyway, that’s not an event. It’s every frickin’ day.

~~The other day, in a public establishment, I saw two women treat a woman of color with barely concealed disdain and then fawn over a pre-teen white girl. When one of the women turned her dazzling smile on me and said, “How may I help you, dear?” I pivoted on my heel and took my business elsewhere.

~~ Passover starts tonight, and somehow my spouse and I have ended up alone on the first night for probably the first time. I adore his company, so I’m not sad, but I admit to becoming nostalgic as I set out to write today’s blog.

On the first two nights of Passover, Jews everywhere sing a song about all the miracles that enabled our ancestors to escape enslavement in Egypt. The song is named for the chorus, “Dayenu,” meaning “it would have been enough.”  As in, if only the Red Sea had parted, we would have been satisfied, if the divine supplied our needs in the desert for forty years, it would have been enough…

Today, “Dayenu” serves as a reminder that I have already received so much from so many who have shaped and encouraged me. While I drive forward, my rear view mirror is cluttered with faces that I’ll never have the privilege to see again. The radio may be bleating today’s news, but my inner ears hear voices long silent. 

As in most families, holidays are what bind mine together. It’s also when we clearly see who is no longer sitting at the table. Some are feasting at tables far from home while others are taking part in an otherworldly seder tonight. My friends Alan and Jill aren’t making Hillel sandwiches with their loved ones, relatives of the previous generation won’t be with my cousins slurping matzoh ball soup, and my husband’s family won’t be gathering in Arizona to eat his aunt’s just-short-of-toxic cooking.

Looming largest for me on Passover is the absence of my parents. I remember fondly how my mother’s eyes sparkled as she looked at her gathered family. As my father said the blessings, the worry lines around mom’s eyes diminished and her physical woes didn’t drain all the color from her face. She was radiant in the candlelight and contented in the esprit de Smith family.

My mother made it to a lot less Passovers than my father, dying just short of the holiday. For another decade, my dad continued eating his way through seder meals, having actually never met a repast that didn’t fill him with pleasure.

My last pleasant memory of my dad involves Passover.  Though suffering from the effects of a stroke and brain surgery, he presided over a picnic-style seder my family created for him in the hospital rec room. Though the table was covered in institutional plastic rather than my mom’s gorgeous linens, my father basked in the glow of his family as he garbled his way through the blessings and ravenously ate forkfuls of his last real meal.

Sigh — the Passover tables of my mind are long gone, but the memories will have to be enough.

~~ Oh, yeah. Every Passover, we retell the story of the Jews’ exodus from Egypt and the clutches of the evil Pharaoh.


   
 
  

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend, a Zissen Pesach, and/or a Happy Easter!
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard: “The house looked really nice but that damn agent knew I won’t buy a house on the odd-numbered side of the street.”

~~ “It was a very awkward situation,” according to a friend. “Her dad made passes at me for years and I always told him no way. Now he’s dead, and she thinks I’d be a great person to say a few words at his memorial. I either lie or say ‘[dad] was a dickwad.’ So I tell her I get anxious about public speaking so I need to decline.”

~~ How lucky am I that my husband is both handy and limber?

~~ The woman in the nearby dressing room is singing softly. It sounds like the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction,” but then the words become clearer: “I can't get no grill reaction, I can't get no grill reaction, so I fry and I fry and I fry…” What the hell?

~~ She wonders if I can help her out of a legal jam. I tell her that I’m retired, but she says that’s OK because the person suing her is retired as well.

~~ “Is that an original concert tee?” she asks about the vintage 1978 Steve Martin shirt I wore to yoga. “Yes,” I respond. “It’s part of my I’m so old collection.”
I searched for the tee online. There’s one on eBay for $199.00 and a few for under $20. I wonder what the expensive one is made of, because mine is about the thinnest cotton that exists. If it was any slighter, I wouldn’t need a TSA scan at the airport.

~~ Wednesday’s yoga teacher is as big a space geek* as I am, so we awaited the press conference to reveal the black hole photos before class started. As we gushed over seeing something “for real” that was heretofore only presented as an illustration, we began pondering the universe (as one does when given the opportunity).

I mused that since cosmologists and astrophysicists use today’s hi-tech equipment to look back into history — to say, see a star that exploded many years ago — was there a civilization in our future looking back at us? More than that, supposed the teacher, what if they were actually moving us around in some kind of amusing galactic game?

* According to the NY Times, space geek isn’t the right term. A lay person who gets excited by doings in the cosmos is an astrofan, but no way in hell I’m one of these:

~~ I just finished reading Us Against You: A Novel by Fredrik Backman.
I’m a fan of his writing, so a novel about hockey was doubly appealing. It was a bit dark, as human lives often are, but it was compelling in its use of hockey as the thing that both divided and united two towns tucked away in Nowheresville. If you’re not a fan of the sport, don’t let that put you off. It’s just a leitmotif — what this novel is truly about is what lies beneath, alongside, or far, far away from cruelty, deceit, and the mindless anger of a mob. The characters are compelling and the writing is outstanding. I recommend it highly.

~~ Don’t you wish you were as rich as Magic Johnson, so you could chuck it all in such a classless way and not be impacted one iota?

~~ When asked yesterday about Wikileaks after the arrest of Julian Assange, Donnie the Conman claimed he really doesn’t know boo about them. Remember when tRump said "I looooooooooooooove Wikileaks"? He likely said it more times than he professed "I love you" to all three wives and five kids.






Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard: “It’s not something he does every day. But when he does it, the house stinks like the devil was there.”

~~ Overheard: “When he told me a small popcorn was seven dollars, I told him to get me a hamburger.”

~~ There’s a person I know on the spectrum who asks very random questions. No prelude, no reference to anything being discussed. Her questions are often charming in their innocence, but her latest revealed a glaring gap in my education: “Do you know how to tell a tall shrub from a small tree?”

~~ I had lunch with a friend the other day who is closing in on her 90th birthday. She’s witty and with-it (and still working), but the conversation took a somber turn. Seems her doctor told her she’s borderline diabetic and cautioned her to cut out most sugary items, including her daily Scotch. She scoffed at that advice and then confided, “Look. No one has had a better life than I have. They may have had just as good a life as me, but no one could say they were happier. I had a great childhood, a wonderful marriage of 60-plus years, enjoy my children and grandchildren, and have been blessed to be successful at my job. If one lousy Scotch a day can take me out, so be it — I have no regrets.”


Twice people stopped by our table to say how much they enjoyed seeing a mother and daughter having lunch. We smiled and said we’re not related. After the second compliment, my friend said, “If one more person says that, please tell them you’re my sister. The one who could afford plastic surgery, obviously.” Darn it but no one else came by.

~~ Someone close to me said something about the limitations of another person’s character. At the time and for over 40 years thereafter, I truly believed she was as wrong as wrong could be. Recently I found out that the voice from the grave was spot-on. Crazy, right?

[See how I avoided using dead wrong and dead-on? I wonder what it is about dead that goes with so many phrases such as dead set, dead certain, dead calm, stopped dead, and dead to rights. It’s kind of morbid, isn’t it?]

~~ I think Wednesday is gonna blow the grid!

~~ I invited a hard-of-hearing friend to the upcoming boat show. “I don’t like folk shows,” she proclaimed. “I only like rock.”

~~ We did a meditation at yoga where we visualized a box; when the thing or person that stresses us the most springs to mind, we imagined placing it or them into that box. I believe I caused a spiritual cardboard shortage with all the boxes I gathered, but it was temporarily calming.

~~ My previous magazine is defunct, but I have a new one! Please take a look at the first issue: https://boatingmagli.com/ and let me know what you think.


~~ Sarah Sanders declared that Democrats are playing a “dangerous game” by investigating Jared Kushner’s security clearance. So keeping a potential security threat in the White House isn’t dangerous, but investigating it is?


 

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ As I was passing by, the contents of a woman’s purse spilled out. I stopped to help, and when we were done, she said, “Bless you.” Not even five minutes later, as I drove behind a landscaper’s truck, a large branch flew out and headed towards my windshield. In the nanosecond I had to panic, a gust of wind lifted the branch higher than my car and it missed me completely. I’m not a big believer in divine intervention, but this bless you/branch avoidance occurrence is a reason to not discount it entirely.

~~ Overheard: “I didn’t sleep my way to the top. At best, I got a few raises.”

~~ Overheard: “The doctor said to take two Advils if one didn’t work, so I took four because I think my doctor’s too timid.”

~~ Overheard: “He says my wine is never the problem, so why pick on him for the beer? I tell him ‘I don’t drink a six-pack of wine, you ass.’”

~~ He says, “You blink once and five years speed by.” He didn’t look amused when I responded, “Don’t blink twice, all right?”



~~ The text from a former colleague was short: Exciting news! Get in touch! so of course I did. After a few moments of chitchat, she told me she was organizing a fundraiser for someone I didn’t know running for office in a county I don’t live in, and would I “honor her” by buying a ticket for $150?

I reminded her that I no longer practice law and I still live in a different county, but she didn’t want to take no for an answer. So I sighed and said, “OK, OK. I’ll send you my last $5. I won’t sit and I won’t eat. Is that OK?”

Her demeanor changed. She said, “Oh, no. Your last five bucks? I can’t take that.” I faux-gushed my thanks, wished her good luck, and said I had to go. Afterwards, I felt kind of bad. It wasn’t because I had any inclination to spend $150 on a rubber chicken dinner for a candidate I didn’t know. I just felt guilty about lying — I have $6.83!

~~ Yesterday was baseball’s opening day, and I was chatting with someone who claimed she didn’t know I was a sports’ fan. Then the light went on — she said, “Oh, that’s right. You used to write about sports once in a while on HuffPo!” I did.  If you’re so inclined, you can read my sports’ rants from many years ago:
~~ You likely know that Education Secretary Betsy DeVos took $18 million dollars away from the Special Olympics, among other cutbacks (and cutoffs) to the most vulnerable among us. And tRump wants to cut PBS and NPR, though he has allocated $100 million to Ivanka’s still non-existent womens’ fund. Save your “fiscal responsibility” arguments for someone else, because I only see the earmarks of cruelty, suppression, and grifting.



Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ I got a note from a legal colleague who enjoys reading this blog. His subject line: Dementia-ville still lives! Here’s what he wrote:

I am about to file a suit against an agency and a home health aide. The daughters of an elderly woman contacted me because their mom had a bad bruise across her face that was clearly a hand (I have photos). Yet when they spoke to the aide, she claimed ‘I was just trying to make mom look pretty by fixing her hair, but the curling iron slipped and burned her face.’ They took mom to the ER, and the doc confirmed it was a bruise, not a burn… and I’m told the 97-year-old has so little hair that she barely needs a comb, let alone a curl. These people suck.

~~ Standing in the biography section of the library, I’m contemplating a few books merely because of their alphabetical proximity to each other. There’s a man at the other end of the aisle, but I’m paying no attention. Suddenly he’s at my side, smelling from cigarettes, mouthwash, and cologne. He gestures towards the shelves. “Is there anything here you’d recommend?” he asks (I swear he’s also winking). “You look like someone who reads.”

I shook my head. “I’d ask the librarian for a recommendation. There’s too many for me to choose between.”

Do you think he tries this pickup line in a supermarket? Gesturing towards the spaghetti sauces, he’ll remark that a woman looks like someone who eats!

~~ Setting up for yoga, I grabbed two blocks and put them down on the front of my mat (it helps to straighten out a rolled mat). I never give block placement much thought, and as it turned out, I placed one block up and one sideways. 
Moments into class, the woman to my right reached over and made the block closer to her match the other one. I gave her a quizzical look: she shrugged. After class, she apologized, saying my mismatched blocks had “triggered her OCD.” I smiled and said I’d try to be more mindful, but she shrugged again and said, “You’ll never be careful enough, but that’s my problem. I’m in therapy because I’m tired of trying to rearrange the world. You’d never guess how messy this world really is — and who has time to line up all the garbage cans on the block and the tires on all the cars in the street?”

I made it a point to notice the world’s messiness for the rest of the day. I’m glad she’s in therapy, because there’s disharmony everywhere you look.
~~
 
From where I sit, the early part of this season has a serious identity crisis. The calendar may designate this month’s waning days as the beginning of spring, but when I set foot outside, I’m immediately tempted to spring back inside to escape the cold.

Don’t be so fast to disparage this time of the year, astronomers would say. They know the earth is tilting more towards the sun, setting the stage for longer days, softer winds, and warmer weather. Botanists would disagree with my dismissal as they understand nature is emerging from its winter dormancy as seeds germinate and the ground softens in preparation. Naturalists recognize that the groundwork is being laid (literally) for the return of critters who wintered elsewhere and for those who feel the stirrings of animal passion. Marine biologists look out for creatures who’ll become livelier as they shed winter’s sluggishness. So if scientists appreciate that renewal is afoot, must I applaud spring’s arrival? I want to, I really do, but I’m still wearing gloves!

~~ Jimmy Carter became the oldest living former president in United States history yesterday.
There’s a lot to be said for following your moral compass and serving others.


~~ I know someone who’s incredibly self-absorbed and constantly puts down other people. A relative described her this way: “She’s the kind of person who goes to a funeral and is jealous because the corpse is the center of attention.” I believe that describes the so-called prez of the US as well.






Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO RANGERS! sigh
GO away, NY KNICKS, GO!
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ “I am so done with winter!” I proclaimed after zipping up my boots and my coat. “I hate zippers AND cold weather.”

The woman I was with agreed and said she had a zipper horror story to share. Seems her co-worker couldn’t get the zipper all the way down on her knee-length parka, so she tried to step up, over, and out of it. She was unsuccessful — she tripped and pitched forward into a door frame, breaking both her arm and concussing her cranium.

My instincts are correct. Zippers suck. And they cause great harm.

~~ “See that over there?” she said, pointing at the plate cover on the wall “It’s my emotional emoji.”

“Don’t you mean it’s your emotional outlet?” I wondered.

~~ The fight in the waiting room was amusing, seeing as how I wasn’t involved. She was furious at him for telling her to take the “Pine Aire” exit while he was yelling that he told her to take the “Pinelawn” exit.

She: I got so lost because of your directions.
He:  Clean out your ears once in a while and you won’t get so lost.
She: Seriously, you want to do this here?
He:  H-E-R-E or H-E-A-R, it doesn’t matter. None of this is my fault.
She: Oh, it’s A-L-L your fault.

~~ Overheard: “Nah, you don’t want to watch that yoga teacher on YouTube. She’s Canadian and says please way, way too much.”

~~ Maybe the doctor’s friends think this is funny, but how do his or her patients feel seeing this in the parking lot?

~~ Two women in my immediate vicinity were discussing the pregnant one’s condition. “How many weeks are you?” asked the non-expecting one, and as the expecting one started to answer, another person walked by. “I’m 38 on Monday,” replied the mom-to-be. The passerby stopped, stared for a moment, and said, “Sorry to interrupt — and happy birthday — but you look great! You don’t look much older than 30.” The pregnant woman’s face fell fast and hard. With clenched teeth she seethed, “I’m 25 years old. I’m almost 38 weeks pregnant.”

That passerby might still be tripping over herself to apologize if the yoga class hadn’t started a minute later.

~~ They come for one of us, they come for all* of us. This is why I work every day to remove this malignant administration and the evil it has unleashed.

*Except for Stephen Miller.

~~ On a better, brighter note, today is Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s 86th birthday. Please take a moment out of your busy day to send her some healthy vibes and maybe plank for solidarity.

~~ I don’t drink coffee, so Howard Schultz probably has no use for me. And I have no use for him, either, even after his apology. (That comma isn't why.)

~~ If tRump has “all the best people,” why do so very many of them go to jail?

 

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO RANGERS! sigh
GO away, NY KNICKS, GO!
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday



Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard two women, apparently in the same book club, talking: “I didn’t read a page of it and I don’t know what it’s about. Do you think I can fake it?”

~~ Overheard: “My brother thinks everyone in the family should bow down to his obnoxious wife. Between you and me, he married her for her money, so he can do all the bowing, thank you very much.”

~~ I regretted saying “How are you?” the moment the words left my lips. “I’m having a real rough day,” he says. “Blah blah ME, blah blah ME, blah blah MY CAR, blah blah ME, blah blah ME, blah blah MY ACCOUNTANT, blah blah ME, blah blah ME, blah blah DIARRHEA, blah blah TWO SHOTS, blah blah ME, blah blah ME, blah blah THE CAT, blah blah ME.” He didn’t come up for air for at least four minutes, but it felt like 20. I’m not being callous (well, not too callous) by turning a deaf ear to him. The last time I saw him, he told me he was having a tough day then, too. So was I after our encounter — I arrived quite late for an appointment after hearing about his dentist, his orthotic shoes, and at least a dozen people I don’t know.

~~ As I was putting my gear away, post-yoga, I stepped back and thought I bumped a person. Of course I said, “I’m sorry; please excuse me,” as I turned around. It wasn’t a person but a yoga cushion sticking out from its usual perch. I looked at the woman next to me, who was laughing. I shrugged and said, “Well, that’s embarrassing.” She stopped laughing as her face reddened and her eyes grew quite wide. “You want to know what’s embarrassing? Bringing your coffee into the parent-teacher conference at your kid’s Catholic school and tripping as you go to greet the teacher. You fling coffee all over the desk and then you yell, “Holly fuckin’ mother of g-d” right before you remember the teacher is a fuckin’ nun. A nun! That’s embarrassing.”

~~ Here’s what happens when matzah ball soup tries to pretend it’s Italian:


~~ tRump’s meeting with Kim abruptly falls apart, and many seem mystified. I keep wondering about the presence of Putin’s Foreign Minister Lavrov in Vietnam at the same time — was that really the reason Donnie was there, and the rest just a distracting farce?

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO RANGERS!
GO away, NY KNICKS, GO!
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard: “Are you happy to be pregnant?” “No, for g-ds sake. Do I look in the least bit happy?”

~~ She was traveling cross-country for a business trip. She tells me that as she was about to doze off, the guy next to her took off his shoes and socks. “I almost urped,” she told me. But then it got worse. “He loosened his pants and shimmied them down off his hips.”

What did she do? “I didn’t know what to do, as he still had briefs on. Do I call the flight attendant and say, ‘This guy is skeeving me out?’ I don’t think they’ll do anything.”

I wonder, would he have stripped down further if the attendant spilled a drink on his lap? She laughed. “Believe me, I was tempted to knock over my coffee but I was afraid he’d do just that. Or worse, sue me for damaging his junk.”

~~ A delightful and woke 12-year-old and I were chatting about her plans for school vacation. She turned the discussion around and said, “Can I ask you something? Why do people say ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Kids are already beings, aren’t they?”

~~ In a group gripe about the cold, I add my two cents about how it gets into me and I can’t shake the chill for hours. “Drink bone broth,” advises one of the group. I say that I’m a vegan, to which she responds, “Just take out the meat.” Figuring she’s unaware of what vegans are all about, I calmly say that the bones are from an animal, the broth is from an animal, and so “I’m not going to eat it whether or not meat bits are floating around.” She sighs loudly and retorts, “You’re so judgmental. That’s why everyone dislikes vegans.”

~~ I was writing a story about the perils of dog poop (it’s a significant waterways pollution problem) and after poop, turd, and fecal matter, I was out of G-rated synonyms. So I pulled up the thesaurus feature in Word and got these truly silly suggestions:

~~ I experienced major pain in both my hands recently and went to see the doctor.
Turns out I have an affliction that befalls many new parents who lift and carry their babies: De Quervain's tenosynovitis. I’d been hoisting a geriatric canine (please don’t tell him, as he has no idea he’s aged) and the tendons from my wrists to thumbs were inflamed. Opening a jar and a doorknob were so painful! I rubbed homeopathic cream into the area, I rested my hands, I tried new yoga positions (ouch, my elbows were scraped raw), and I used self-Reiki. (The doc did prescribe an anti-inflammatory cream, but my super-expensive health insurer did not deem it necessary for my care.)

I’m feeling better, finally, but my elderly poodle is giving me the “please carry me” look. As much as I don’t want to hurt, I’d rather my hands feel crappy than disappoint this creature:

~~ Peter Tork of the Monkees has passed away. I know the show was “just” a TV creation, but the comedy was entertaining to pre-teen me, and the songs formed the soundtrack of part of my life. I can’t share anything here that will blow you away with genius and artistic achievement, but I can link to “Auntie Grizelda” and grin!

~~ Just curious, Donnie tRump, Alan Dershowitz, Rudy Giuliani et al: why do you insist that it’s “unconstitutional” to invoke the 25th Amendment to the Constitution to dump this sorry excuse for an executive in the White House?
Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
LET’S GO RANGERS!
GO away, NY KNICKS, GO!
LET’S GO METS!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ There was a dog in the yoga studio earlier in the week. I spotted JoJo as I walked in and asked, “Who is this gorgeous creature?” A woman by the shoe cubbies/room divider apparently hadn’t noticed the dog and couldn’t see back towards where I stood. However, she had a clear line of vision to a class regular, a yogi who was in a downward dog with his butt facing her.

“Oh, my, that’s so forward of you!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never heard you talk like that about A – and so loudly, too!”

I motioned for her to come out and then pointed towards JoJo.  The sweet, gentle dog looked up and met her gaze. She blushed while the rest of us convulsed with laughter.

~~ Distracting stuff was happening, and I put too much soap in the washing machine. Two cycles and a rinse/spin later, there was still too damn much soap. So I consulted the manual that came along with the machine:
Problem
Excessive suds

Possible Cause
Did you use more than the recommended amount of detergent?

Solution
Use the recommended amount of detergent for the load.

Hey, frickin’ genius instructions writer: that’s great for NEXT time, but what about THIS time?

~~ My Valentine ordered chicken and roasted potatoes off the menu for his meal. What was presented — with a straight face and nary an apology — was chicken and potato chips. Really?

~~ I read in the business section where the denim jeans market is falling as the ath-leisure market is ascending. Damned if I didn’t hear someone just yesterday confess that she always wears yoga pants when shopping just so any semi-slovenliness on her part is instead interpreted as post-workout messiness. Brilliant — you can’t pull that off in jeans.

~~ You see how tRump co-opted one of Hillary Clinton’s slogans at his rally this week? It reminded me of a story of another “theft.” I had occasion to represent a seller and as is customary, I prepared the contracts and sent them to the buyer’s attorney. Six months or so later, I represented buyers whose sellers just happened to have hired that same attorney to represent them. 

I received his contracts and began to read. At first I thought, Hmmm, this contract is comprehensive. Then I thought, Hmmm, this contract sounds very familiar. By the time I was about two-thirds of the way through, I thought Damn, this contract is mine!

The tip off was clause 24, which dealt with the duties of the escrowee (the one holding the downpayment money). As that is a seller’s attorney’s responsibility, my contract clause states, The Escrow Agent shall be entitled to her costs and time in connection with the deposit procedure, as awarded by the court.  Escrow Agent may resign all duties hereunder and she shall be discharged of all obligations hereunder at any time by giving notice to Seller and Purchaser, whereupon they shall designate a successor escrow agent

Many attorneys read a clause that they like and incorporate it or adapt it for their own use. That’s fair and even flattering. But word-for-word pilfering is a plagiarism and an infringement of the copyright of my work. I wasn’t going to send a “cease and desist” notice and I sure wasn’t going to sue. Nevertheless, the escrowee referred to in the contract I was reading had been male in our first deal, but the clause still referenced she and her — there’s my opening to stir up a bit of trouble!

When I called him to discuss some details, I started the conversation by asking, “Do you want me to address you differently since the gender change?”

There was dead silence on the other side followed by a stammering, “Whaaaaaaaat?”

“Well,” said I, quite rascally, “I saw in clause 24 of your contract that you refer to yourself as her and she, so I figured you changed your gender and not ripped off my contract word for word.”

“I guess you caught me,” he said. “Heh. Heh. No harm done, right?”

Still feeling peeved, I gave him one last riposte. “I’d say you were probably harmed by all our colleagues who got this contract and laughed at you for referring to yourself as female, not to mention whatever damage your not-so-bright secretary did on other stuff she copied without thinking!”

~~ I didn’t read the whole story because I’m sure I would have gotten queasy. But tRump said something about getting a dog would make him feel like a “phony.” But the fake tan, hair, bone spurs, multiple adulteries, and gazillions of lies make him feel… authentic?
** 


                    ^^^Don’t get the reference? Here it is (don’t send me hate mail):
Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.

LET’S GO RANGERS!
GO, NY KNICKS, GO!
LET’S GO METS!

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