Before my radiation treatment today, I decided to duck into Starbucks for some hot chocolate and chocolate chip banana bread. As the fellow rang me up, he yammered, "SOMEbody likes CHOC-olate..."
I replied, "GUILTY AS CHARGED."
Perhaps wanting to ensure he hadn't offended my feminine sensibilities, he blabbed on, "Naw, naw. It's cool. It's all good. Seriously, chocolate's amazing stuff. Honestly. It fixes ya right up. Cures what ails ya. Y'know?"
I hoisted my cake in brotherhood and managed, "You got THAT right."
The hot chocolate was prepared and handed to me, and I turned to walk out. As I passed my chocaholic friend, he caught my eye and added, loudly, with a big smile: "Now you go ahead and tell me what in your life THAT aint gonna cure!"
Ok, seriously? Did he really just say that to me on this day?
Oh man, this is too good. I paused. Such a nice guy, IMAGINE if I dropped the C-bomb on him right here and now in the middle of Starbucks? I almost started giggling at the painful scene that would follow: The sudden, awkward silence. The redness rising in his cheeks. The anguished backpedaling.
Again I am reminded what a STRANGE arrow I now carry in my quiver. The ultimate trump card. The instant, guaranteed conversation killer.
Of course I would never use it like that. So instead, I grinned and replied, "NOT-A-THING, not a thing. You're right. The whole day's looking up from here!" He winked at me, and I walked out.