Today my wife decided it was an “us” day (translation – she had places she wanted me to take her), On the forth stop, we went to a furniture store. We have nursed our couch for about 18 years and its finally gone south. So, I sold some equipment for a grand and that should cover most of it. As the boss is shuffling the big guy around and instructing, “Sit here, now here, now here”, etc, she finally had to respond to a nature call. While she’s in the bathroom the saleswoman tried to fill the empty air space with some chit chat, and here’s how the conversation went:
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I’m retired.”
“Oh, that’s nice. How do you fill your time?”
“I write romantic suspense novels.”
She backed up as if a human had just morphed into an alien. “What did you say?”
“You heard correctly. I write romantic suspense.”
She looked dumbfounded, as if someone just tried to explain that the world really was flat. “You’re, you’re joking right?”
“No.”
“But, but you’re a guy…I mean a really big guy. How could you…”
I could tell she thought I was pulling her chain so I offered, “Do you read the local Laker newspaper?”
“Sure, what does that…” I could see the truth just slammed her right in the face, “You’re him.”
“Yes.”
“You’re that big guy that writes…they just wrote an article about…Do you have a website where I can see some excerpts and…”
Her entire demeanor changed. It was funny as hell. Guess I don’t fit in her mold. Can’t argue with her stereotype though; I’ve seen that strange expression from a lot of women.
Michael Davis (Davisstories.com)
Author of the year, 2008
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