If you hadn't noticed, it's cold & flu season. And that means, in Retail Hell, it's also paranoia time.
What that means is that every cash register, counter, and phone smells of Lysol, and that's not perfume, it's disinfectant hand sanitizer.
The Weasel has been coughing. And every time he coughed on Saturday, he also offered to lick a keyboard, a counter, a phone.
With one exception: Me. He coughed, and when I asked him if he was infectious, he offered to lick me to find out.
Er, uhm, NO.
When telling My Sweetie this little tale of modern healthy living, My Sweetie asked if the guy had been more specific...then offered his own services. But My Sweetie was specific with his offer.
'nuff said.
2 comments:
Oh my.
So when he offers these things, the Weasel, do you offer to knee him in the balls? Sounds equitable.
Nah, Flea, he just doens't think before he speaks sometimes. And, in all honesty, I think it has more to do with my not being easily offended, or thinking he's even close to serious, than with any thing else.
It's a funny story--especially when I tell My Sweetie. It's like payback for the pussy story!
Post a Comment