Monday, April 20, 2009

You Sir Are No Wombat

I was wandering through the grocery store parking lot searching for “Hilda” (The miracle of German engineering that is my car), praying that I would find her before it started to rain and ruin the four bags of peanut butter cups I had just purchased, when a man dressed as a wombat pulled up next to me on his motorcycle. He offered me his card and asked if I had ever considered cosmetic dentistry. I told him that I had thought about laser teeth whitening.

“Are you a dentist, because it says here that you sell cars?” I inquired after reading his card.
“No” he replied “But I am currently enrolled in a correspondence course, and it is cosmetic dentistry we are talking about here lady, not root canals.”
Being slightly put off by his condescending tone, I told him to show me his teeth; I reasoned that if he were in fact a student, his own bicuspids should be some indication of his proficiency in the art of mail order dentistry.

After some hesitation, he curled his upper lip exposing a row of little tiny rodent teeth replete with pointy incisors.

“You are not a dentist, or a wombat for that matter! You Sir are a WEASEL!”

I dropped the bags of peanut butter cups and ran…

Don’t you hate it when people tell you about their dreams?
I KNOW! Me too!

I think the lesson here is Do Not Eat Four Bags of Peanut Butter Cups before Bed.


Out-T.


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