We’re covered in snow and it’s not funny. As I told the over-eager Chihuahua hounding me at closing time last night: “Too little. Too late.” Now beat it.
If only it were that easy to get the ice off my porch. (I know, I know, it's not like in the Maritimes...)
I hear that for westerners, seeing us centralists enduring blizzards in April is very amusing. If you’d put down the marijuana for a tick, dahrlings, you’d realize that tour operators needed this in January. (For the record, I know you’re not all dope-addled nudists out there and some of you have jobs and stuff.)
Speaking of getting a haircut and a job, ACTA has finished their rigorous search for President and hired someone called Wendy. The poor dear. There isn’t enough dye at Schwartzkopf to keep those tresses blonde, sweetheart. You’ll be grey in a month – assuming you still have hair.
OK, it’s not that bad and you won’t be incessantly badgered by agents who think your job should be to bring back commissions. Some of those have moved on to open First Choice hair cutter franchises.
But, as I told the Chihuahua, timing is everything. And the industry is in a weird place right now.
Remember when obscene phone calls were a thing, dahrlings? I’d do some heavy breathing for a bit and then hang up. Good times. With what gets tweeted, video’d, bootie-called and Penisterested nowadays, that was as offensive as Moby Dick. It's all relative.