You figure what’s the rush? Your rendezvous with Gina isn’t for another hour, and you’ve had a long week at the office. A brief respite is just what the doctor ordered. You place yourself on the bench and retrieve the fork from your pie, albeit with some difficulty (my, Martha is a strong woman). As you raise the first bite of the delectable green confection to your mouth, you find yourself distracted by what seems to be a heated argument between a pair of rather tall transvestite hookers next to you. Annoyed that your peace with your piece of pie is disrupted, you decide to investigate. As you approach the pair, you notice two things: 1) Both are decked out in rodeo regalia, and 2) purple eye shadow provides quite a striking counterpoint to a five o’clock shadow.
You introduce yourself and say “Now ladies, what seems to be the problem?” The first lady, introducing herself as Ida Slapter, seems visibly shaken and says “We’re ruined! Our chance at fame and fortune is ruined! Our band just broke up and we’re supposed to be on stage in one hour!” Ooops, did she say band? So not hookers then . . . you speculate on the old adage of making assumptions.
“That’s horrible” you say.
“Honey, you’re telling us” exclaims the second lady, identifying herself as Mabel Lene. “We’re a cover band of the Dixie Chicks, and our third singer, Martha Merrier, just dropped out, saying her pies are her first priority in life.”
Dour old Martha was a Marty? Well, that explains a few things. But is this just a coincidence, or is it fate? Your guilty pleasure is belting out Dixie Chicks ditties in the shower every morning, much to the displeasure of those in the neighbouring apartment. And, wincingly, you remember that you have that plaid dress in your backpack that you bought for Gina’s birthday, but have to return because it’s five sizes too big (you’re never going to live that one down!).
Do you . . .