Last night, while CB and I were on a fabulous dinner date at our local Mexican joint (of his choosing), he was rifling through his wallet. I, of course, being the nosy girlfriend that I am, wanted to see what he was looking at. When he wouldn’t immediately acquiesce to my demanding nosiness, I made the following comment:
“What are those, your Pink Pony Bucks?”
(For those unfamiliar, the Pink Pony is a rather infamous strip joint in Atlanta.)
His response, as he turned the fanned pieces of cardstock around so I could see them?
“They are my grandmother’s business cards.”
… um, yeah.