Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Grill, Baby, Grill

Red and I were talking about the debt ceiling crisis, the credit rating debacle and the stock market dive and here’s what we decided –

Kathy: I don’t have any stocks to speak of and I’m not in a position to buy treasury bonds. I certainly can’t make the government or anybody else (including me) buy less stuff on credit. What’s a woman to do?

Red: Grill, baby, grill!

Kathy: Huh?

Red: Seriously. You throw a couple of steaks on the grill; maybe a couple of ears of corn. I’ll whip up a pitcher of margaritas and it’ll all be good.

Kathy: That’s your solution to everything.

Red: Not everything. Sometimes I prefer ice cream. Chocolate and peanut butter from Baskins-Robbins, in case you forgot.

Kathy: How could I forget? I wrote that line the first time. And this time grilling and cocktails isn’t going to cut it!

Red: Why not? There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Thank goodness, you’re not in the stock market, but even if you were…nothing you can do. Nothing. Might as well eat, drink and be merry. Stop pouting, right now!

Kathy: I’m not pouting. (the creases in my forehead getting deep enough to store change in)

Red: Yes, you are. Now light up the charcoal briquettes, or I'll get down in the mouth, too. (The breeze whipping her wild red hair into a frenzy)

Kathy: (I laugh a little too hysterically) That’ll be the day. You might get pissed off, but you never feel sorry for yourself. Okay! Where are the steaks?

Red: (wide grinned and pointing) Over there, thawing? Oh, and here’s the first pitcher.

Kathy: Boy, you know me, doncha?

Red: Pretty much, my friend. Que Sera. Tomorrow’s another day. Let bygones be bygones. Can’t cry over split milk…

Kathy: Stop! No more clichés. Just hand me that little bit of lime-flavored heaven! You’re right. Not much to be done, so I might as well quit worrying about it.

Red: That’s my girl – Grill, baby, grill.

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