Harrod’s has about 47 restaurants in it and we were looking for one. We wandered through the cricket equipment, past the polo mallets, into and out of the pet department (where we saw the most ungrammatical sign I’ve ever seen – I still regret not stealing it), wound our way through mountains of luggage and into the toy department which had every kind of stuffed bear ever made, but we couldn’t find a place to get a Coke. I had a map of Harrod’s which claimed that there was a café on the fourth floor. This exchange followed:
Me: This says that there’s a café on the fourth floor.
Him: OK, we’re on the fourth floor, so we should be close.
Me: It’s on the fourth floor.
Him: We’re on the fourth floor.
Me: Well, how do we get to the floor that we’re on?
Last night I topped that. Even dumber. We were at our usual post-work bar with Tina and Dallas because today’s her birthday and she’s not coming in to work, so we had to celebrate yesterday. We were conversing, blah blah, and drinking, gulp gulp, and the music system was playing an “eclectic” mix of songs. A Rob Thomas song came on and Tina was singing along to it. This exchange followed:
Me: He’s got a new album coming out.
Tina: It’s coming out on Thursday.
Dallas: Who is this?
Me: It’s Rob Thomas.
Me: That guy from Matchbook 21.
Greg (derisively): She means Matchbox 20.
Everyone else: HAH!!
Matchbook 21? I need a helper monkey.
I saw President Bush on the news last week speaking to a group of Army dudes. Apparently someone had instructed Bush to throw in a “Booyah!” whenever possible. He grasped the concept with a very tenuous grip, but apparently he has a bit of Dan Quayle in him because he kept mispronouncing it. That’s right. He couldn’t quite say Booyah. He kept saying “Bwah!” and “Booha!” instead. He also needs a helper monkey.