
I waited on a woman today that was in search of a cigar lighter for her husband.
After showing her several lighters she picked a Prometheus Torch for $100.
“My husband is unbelievable! Look at this,” She says.
She proceeded to pull out a long yellow piece of paper from her purse that had scribbles all over it.
She begins reading;
“He wants Titelist 3 golf balls and he wants a new Calloway FT-iQ driver and some golf shirts and a pair of New Balance sneakers, some white sox and on and on . . . {ad nauseum}. The cigar lighter isn’t even on the list! {snort} But I wanted to get him one because he always uses mine which I use for my crème brulee.”
Well, la-dee-friggin’-da.
That is one French-ass dessert, isn’t it?
I smile and say, “So how old IS your husband? Nine?”
She actually laughed and said, “Oh, the cigar lighter is just a silly stocking stuffer.”
I wanted to tell her that I’m stuffing my wife’s stocking with anthracite coal this year not because she’s been a naughty girl but because we need the black, sooty rocks to heat our house.
Somehow I just don’t think she’d get it.
Only 14 days left.
Wake me up on January 2nd please.