When Miss Martine and Pamela Jean and I are together, we talk a little. Okay, a lot. Together the three of us can suck the oxygen out of any room in no time flat. Yes, I do realize that these pithy phrases would be much pithier and more amusing if I explained the context. But that would take much too long, may possibly incriminate the mostly innocent, and then, after all that, you still might not get it. It's one of those had to be there things.
* I don't have enough counter space.
* Have. You. Lost. Your mind.
* Am I wrong, or is he hot?
* I can fix that!!
* No, that goddamn bowl.
* Well. S/he just isn't appreciating our humor/beauty/intelligence.
* If you must open another bottle of wine, please do, but not just for me.
* That's nice.
* SPF!! Which, of course is George Carlin shorthand for three of those seven naughty words. Which comes in handy when you don't have time to swear. The only reason I explain this one is because just last evening I realized it also stands for sweet potato fries.
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