How a Conversation Goes From This to This
Georgia: If I have to go to an in-state college, I'm going to have my own apartment. I just saw a pink stand-up mixer I want--the color of my Starbucks car cup. It will look great in my new kitchen. (Lifts shirt a couple of inches) It'll look great with my love handles, too.
TR: You don't have love handles; those are hips. You're a girl.
Georgia: Why can't I have a boy's body, with some girlie parts thrown in?
TR: 'Cause then you'd be me--only without the girlie parts.
Georgia: Do you even have a vagina?
TR: Gya! I have four kids, so I guess that's pretty functional. Ask Dr. O. He saw it on Monday. He's still cute, by the way.
Georgia: Is he married?
TR: Yes, he's married. With four sons. I'm just talking eye candy, George.
Georgia: Well, I'm not. I'm young and single. I could marry a rich gynecologist.
TR: Who'd want to marry someone who looks at that all day long? I doubt he'd want to see it at home. It would be like working at a restaurant. After a while, the food makes you sick.
George: That never happened to me when I worked at the ice cream place.
TR: When I worked in restaurants, I'd gain five pounds the first few weeks, then end up losing down to less than I weighed when I started. I'd get to where I couldn't stand the smell of the food.
George: I never got tired of it.
TR: Come to think of it, though, I guess it could be more like working in the ice cream store all day and not getting to actually eat the ice cream. He might REALLY want ice cream once he got home.