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What? Don’t look at me. I don’t know the answer.

No, to get the answer, you gotta look to the Contrarian. Yeah, I see you nodding now.

The Contrarian went off to the big city yesterday.

By himself.

No good could ever come of that.

Worse yet, one of his tasks was to get his wedding ring resized. So he went lurking as a “single man.”

Wait. It gets worse.

My husband likes to tell folks that unlike other men, there is no “honey do” list waiting for him every week. No, he says. Only one item on his list: “PLEASE THE WIFE!”  Of course, you faithful reader, know the truth.

How I work my fingers to the bone. But that is another story. For another day.

One of the small tasks I requested was a stop at the grocery store to pick up a green pepper and some mushrooms. This was so I could grace my beloved with homemade pizza. Not so much to ask I thought.

Well, I was wrong.

Some three hours later, he careened down the hill and came to a screeching halt, nearly dismantling the back porch. He threw open the door, and with eyes rolling wickedly and dangerously psychotic, he stumbled up the steps, reaching to kiss the door frame as he entered his castle. He pushed past me and dropped into a kitchen chair.

“I barely escaped with my life!” he mumbled, not once, but several times.

Knowing this is all a bunch of hooey, I waited with patience for the tremors and ticks to subside.

“Okay, what happened?”

“I will never set foot in that demon-laced establishment again!” he shouted.

“Which one are you talking about?” I sighed.

“Wal-F**kin’-Mart,” he screeched. “The place was packed. I picked what I thought was the best line. Little did I know. She couldn’t count, she couldn’t count. Not past thirteen. Three times, Three times, never past thirteen,” he moaned, rocking from side to side.

“Slowly,” I urged, “just take your time and tell me what happened.”

“This woman, this woman. . . .You see I was trying to figure out was she a hooker or a stripper, but she couldn’t count!” he looked up pleading me to see.

But I didn’t. How could any sane person make sense of this?

“Start from the beginning, please!” I begged.

“I got in the line. She didn’t have so very much stuff, big items, expensive items, but not many. I thought she would be quick. It came to $153.42. Her bill. I will never forget those numbers. She took out a wad of bills,” he looked at me helplessly.

“Go on,” I quietly said, still not having a freakin’ clue.

“When I saw the wad, that’s when I got to wondering, was she a hooker or a stripper. All those bills. But they were all 1’s. All of ’em. And they were all folded, not in half but the LONG way!” His face suggested that I was supposed to “get it” at this point. Do you? No, I see you don’t, and neither did I.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I responded limply.

He sighed in manly frustration, like he was talking to a kid. “See that was not the point. The point was, she couldn’t count. . .not past thirteen. She was trying to count out 153 ones and she couldn’t get past thirteen! She started over and over and over, until I thought my head would explode. Finally the cashier told her to just count out ten at a time, and then she paper-clipped each packet. Until there were FIFTEEN freakin’ packets! And three dollars more. And then the change! Don’t get me started with the change. She couldn’t add a quarter to a dime to nickel. It was all too much for her.”

“So it took a long time? So what has that got to do with the folding thing? I still don’t get that?”

“Why it was obvious that she was a stripper! Anybody could see THAT!”

I looked at him hopelessly.

“First of all, when I realized that all the bills were ones I knew she wasn’t a hooker. She’d have had some bigger bills, surely. But the folding the long way gave it away. Can’t you see?”

“No, afraid I can’t.” I murmured.

“They were folded the LONG way, because that’s how you stick them in a g-string! Geesh, haven’t you ever been in a strip joint?” he sputtered.

“Can’t say that I have there partner. Can’t say that I have.

“Oh, my ring will be ready in about  three days, the jeweler said.”

I thought . . .perhaps he can fit it as a nose ring. That might be more practical at this point. But of course, I never SAID that.

 

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