“Hey, Harry, why the sad face?”



“I said ‘women,’ Joe. I will never understand women.”

“You and me both, buddy. Who broke your heart this time?”

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s just that there’s no pleasing them.”

“I hear ya.”

“I mean, I went out with Shirley the other night. Bought her dinner and took her to the Alabama show.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Oh, it was. But at the end of the evening, when I leaned over to kiss her goodnight, she turned away and said something about my breath.”


“I mean, It’s not like I don’t brush my teeth most every day.”

“Uh, uh.”

“And then there’s Maxine. I picked her up for the B.B. King concert, and she griped at me because when she got in my car, she sat on an old burger wrapper and got Mickey D’s special sauce all over her new dress. As if I told her to sit in it, ya know?”

“I know.”

“I’ll never understand them. I took Lacey to see Kings X and she complained about the flies in my car. I went with Judy to see Lisa Loeb and all she did was moan about the crap on my boots. I mean, I am a dogcatcher, ya know? It comes with the territory.”


“I’m tellin’ ya, Joe. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. You ask a lady out for a show, like Supertramp or System Of A Down, and they expect everything to be perfect. Perfect car, perfect clothes, perfect everything. I swear, I think I’ll become a monk.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself, man. Tell you what. How about you and I go out tonight and see a good concert? Maybe Deep Purple, Cyndi Lauper or Styx Just us. Boys night out.”

“Gee, I’d love to, Joe, but it’s Sunday. I never go out on Sundays.”

“So it is, but what’s Sunday got to do with it?”

“Because Sunday’s bath night.”