As a well read man about town I obviously have a reputation to uphold and I’m not bragging when I tell you that I’m considered a pretty good catch as far as the available women around here are concerned. That’s why what happened to me the other day is the subject of this here discourse. I’ve never been so mortified in my life!
Every Friday afternoon I go down to the bank and buy a roll of quarters for the evening’s poker game over at Donny Wilson’s place. It’s become a bit of a routine that I look forward to and I always try and have my favorite teller Arlene Simpson do my banking stuff on account that she’s been blessed by the good Lord with a set of boobs that just about make your eyes water. Now Arlene knows this and doesn’t mind a little polite observation provided you keep your mouth shut and you don’t say anything ignorant like “Double my pleasure, double my fun,” or some such thing as that. No, Arlene appreciates a little admiration and I swear she’s never, ever once buttoned the top button on her blouse.
So just like clockwork there I was last Friday afternoon politely staring and reaching for my ten dollar bill. Well you ain’t going to believe what happened next! As I slapped the ten dollar bill on the counter it was accompanied by a great big wad of “Pocket Lint!” I was frozen in place and Arlene gave me a look as if the ten dollar bill had boogers on it or something. She reached with her fingers and took the very corner of the ten and slowly held it up. I guess she did that to make sure there wasn’t anything else attached to it and then she kind of just flicked it into her cash drawer. Well ole Merle was trying to figure out what to do so I just reached over and picked the damn pocket lint up. NOW WHAT DO I DO?
It was a case of Catch 22 if I ever there was one. If I dropped it on the floor I doubled my crime and if I put it back in pocket I looked like a total ignoramus. I thought as quickly as I could and then stopped thinking, stuffed it in my mouth and swallowed it. I looked at Arlene. Arlene looked at me. Then she blinked her eyes, reached up slowly and buttoned the top button of her blouse. She shook her head and said, “Merle, who in hell does your laundry?” I told her I did and she looked at me and said, “Women notice the little things about men and pocket lint is a serious warning signal.” Well I apologized profusely and told Arlene it would never happen again to which she said, “Merle I hope not. I’ve always thought that you were above having pocket lint. It's something us tellers take quite seriously considering our chosen vocation.” Well it was a good two weeks and two crisp clean ten dollar bills before the top button problem was corrected and I figured from that point on I was probably on probation as far as Arlene was concerned. Crap I even lost that dirty ten dollars over at Donny’s that evening in less than hour. That ten was cursed and the lesson was learned!
Well from that fateful Friday forward I always had the vacuum sweeper ready after washing my clothes and I thoroughly vacuumed the pockets out. I then stationed the vacuum right next to the back door so’s when I went out on the town in the evenings I could always crank her up and make sure my pockets were clean. I had to work the kinks out of that precautionary measure though because I kept forgetting about my change and truck keys and had to dig them out of the vacuum sweeper tank a couple of times. I ended up putting a sign right next to the sweeper that said “Take your damn keys and coins out of your pockets before delinting you fool!” I’ve not had a recurrence and now Arlene’s as friendly as ever so I guess I dodged the proverbial "Lint" bullet there. Now I highly recommend you go out and get yourself a good vacuum sweeper and go through every pocket in every pair of pants so you don’t suffer the pain of “Pocket Lint” like I did. You never know what them women are thinking or conjuring up in their minds so you sure as hell don’t want pocket lint weighing on their feminine thought processes. It could cost you a button or two if you know what I mean.
Every Friday afternoon I go down to the bank and buy a roll of quarters for the evening’s poker game over at Donny Wilson’s place. It’s become a bit of a routine that I look forward to and I always try and have my favorite teller Arlene Simpson do my banking stuff on account that she’s been blessed by the good Lord with a set of boobs that just about make your eyes water. Now Arlene knows this and doesn’t mind a little polite observation provided you keep your mouth shut and you don’t say anything ignorant like “Double my pleasure, double my fun,” or some such thing as that. No, Arlene appreciates a little admiration and I swear she’s never, ever once buttoned the top button on her blouse.
So just like clockwork there I was last Friday afternoon politely staring and reaching for my ten dollar bill. Well you ain’t going to believe what happened next! As I slapped the ten dollar bill on the counter it was accompanied by a great big wad of “Pocket Lint!” I was frozen in place and Arlene gave me a look as if the ten dollar bill had boogers on it or something. She reached with her fingers and took the very corner of the ten and slowly held it up. I guess she did that to make sure there wasn’t anything else attached to it and then she kind of just flicked it into her cash drawer. Well ole Merle was trying to figure out what to do so I just reached over and picked the damn pocket lint up. NOW WHAT DO I DO?
It was a case of Catch 22 if I ever there was one. If I dropped it on the floor I doubled my crime and if I put it back in pocket I looked like a total ignoramus. I thought as quickly as I could and then stopped thinking, stuffed it in my mouth and swallowed it. I looked at Arlene. Arlene looked at me. Then she blinked her eyes, reached up slowly and buttoned the top button of her blouse. She shook her head and said, “Merle, who in hell does your laundry?” I told her I did and she looked at me and said, “Women notice the little things about men and pocket lint is a serious warning signal.” Well I apologized profusely and told Arlene it would never happen again to which she said, “Merle I hope not. I’ve always thought that you were above having pocket lint. It's something us tellers take quite seriously considering our chosen vocation.” Well it was a good two weeks and two crisp clean ten dollar bills before the top button problem was corrected and I figured from that point on I was probably on probation as far as Arlene was concerned. Crap I even lost that dirty ten dollars over at Donny’s that evening in less than hour. That ten was cursed and the lesson was learned!
Well from that fateful Friday forward I always had the vacuum sweeper ready after washing my clothes and I thoroughly vacuumed the pockets out. I then stationed the vacuum right next to the back door so’s when I went out on the town in the evenings I could always crank her up and make sure my pockets were clean. I had to work the kinks out of that precautionary measure though because I kept forgetting about my change and truck keys and had to dig them out of the vacuum sweeper tank a couple of times. I ended up putting a sign right next to the sweeper that said “Take your damn keys and coins out of your pockets before delinting you fool!” I’ve not had a recurrence and now Arlene’s as friendly as ever so I guess I dodged the proverbial "Lint" bullet there. Now I highly recommend you go out and get yourself a good vacuum sweeper and go through every pocket in every pair of pants so you don’t suffer the pain of “Pocket Lint” like I did. You never know what them women are thinking or conjuring up in their minds so you sure as hell don’t want pocket lint weighing on their feminine thought processes. It could cost you a button or two if you know what I mean.
No comments:
Post a Comment