Conversation with my boss while heading to lunch at the Brooklyn Diner.
Me: “Mmmm, I’m gonna get a Mr. Softee for dessert.”
Jeff: “You already have one at home. His name’s Marc.”
Extra bonus, we got to sit in “his” booth. For those not familiar with the Diner, their practice is to put brass name plates of their best (mainly famous) customers. Here’s his:
Trekking back to the office, I was sorely disappointed that Mr. Softee was on the fritz. “You’re killing me!” I screamed before sulking back to the office to face the rest of my day. Then Super Model called. Nothing like chatting with a super skinny gazillionaire to make you not regret having processed chemicals and lard for dessert. If only she called me during every meal.