I'm in that weird spot where I feel so sorry for the lady in this story yet can't stop chuckling:
Wait, this means now she’s available, right? She’s not allergic to sub-basements by any chance, is she? Tell her not to move a muscle; I’ll be right there!
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Hey, wait a minute here . . . I didn’t know there was another angle, and such an easy one at that! Grrrrrrr.
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She’ll probably fall for it: that’s similar to how I got her to buy me a one-way ticket on the Greyhound Bus Line from Minneapolis to San Diego after the most recent restraining order hearing. She was worried that I didn’t have a place to stay in her city and wanted me to get back home as soon as poss- . . . hey, wait a second, something just occurred to me! I wonder if she was just trying to get rid of me instead of worrying about me! Grrrrrrr.
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Baby, three on a honeymoon just won’t work! It’s supposed to be just the two of us, you don’t need anyone besides me! Grrrrrrr.
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If there was any Vegemite, avocado, or mayonnaise found at the scene? Yes? See, that clears me. Check on a certain Australian. (Cough, cough.)
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Danny Boy, don’t talk like a rank amateur! I’ve been carving away at her rough exterior for about three or four years now, so I’m well accustomed to “apparent“ victories on her side, but in reality it just takes reading between the lines. See how she typed “Randy”? Psychologically, it indicates she writes my name dozens or hundreds of times a day in a favorite notebook. These are signs of deep feelings of love for me. I get that a lot though.
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That’s probably just the cooking sherry talking. I’ll wait until you have slept it off and we can return to our love affair.
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Jane S 