Actual conversation with B.O.B. recently. He's either thinking I am sleep deprived or need to check in at the Betty Ford Clinic A.S.A.P.
B.O.B.: Where are you?
B.O.B.: How did you end up in Fenton? I thought you were going to Grand Blanc.
Me: I don't know. I just ended up here.
B.O.B.: What are you doing there?
Me: Thinking about getting a sandwich from Locke's.
B.O.B.: That sounds good but you are going to your parents for dinner. Are you just going to say you're not hungry when you get to your parents?
Me: No, because I can't get a sandwich from Locke's.
B.O.B.: But you're there and obviously you drove to Fenton to go to Locke's.
Me: I said I can't go to Locke's.
Me: Because I'll buy liquor if I go to Locke's.
B.O.B.: You can buy liquor if you want. Better yet, pick me up a cigar while you're there.
Me: I can't go there.
Me: Because I will just end up in the Irish cream aisle and it won't be pretty.
B.O.B.: Why won't it be pretty?
Me: I'll end up opening bottles to taste the different varieties. Then I'll drink them all. And end up face down, passed out in the aisle surrounded by empty bottles. You'll have to come and get me and that will be ever so embarrassing, especially for you, since I'll be passed out and won't care.
B.O.B.: Are you out of Irish cream?
Me: I have learned one can never have too much Irish cream. But to save the family from shame, I won't go to Locke's.
Me: Can we get a cow?
B.O.B.: A cow? Why?
Me: So I can have fresh Irish cream every day.
B.O.B.: I don't think that's the way it works.
Me: I'll feed my cow whiskey and then I'll have Irish cream all the time. I'll never run out.
B.O.B. (the voice of reason or wet blanket, you make the call): I don't think we can have a cow in the city.
Me: We'll just disguise it as the Great Dane. No one will notice. Besides, that commercial about all the happy cows living in California? It's a lie! Truly happy cows live in Ireland because they are the source of Irish cream. So, can we get a cow? Or better yet, can we just move to Ireland?