“You got it, Sport.”

“Uh, on second thought, make it a margarita.”

“Whatever you say. Do you want that stirred or blended?”

“Blended.”

“Coming right up.”

“No, that’s not right. Make it stirred.”

“Whatever. Say, Champ, why the sad face?”

“I’m not doing so well, today. My wife left me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She said I had trouble with the ‘C’ word.”

“The ‘C’ word? You mean, ‘commitment?'”

“Uh, uh. She said I could never commit to anything. Uh… you got any peanuts?”

“Right here, Champ.”

“Thanks. Uh… Could I have some pretzels instead?”

“Sure thing. Here you go. You say she left you, today?”

“Yeah. She said I was incapable of making a decision and then sticking to it. Like last week when I went to Ticketmaster to buy tickets for Vince Neil, but came home with seats for Tab Benoit and Skid Row. She said it was a classic case of not being able to make a commitment.”

“She could have a point there.”

“Or last month when I told her I was taking her to see Kings X, but we ended up seeing Quiet Riot instead.”

“Those are both great acts. You win either way.”

“That’s what I tried to tell her, but she said it was just another example of how I avoid commitment.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll send her some flowers and tickets for Counting Crows and Dead Kennedys.”

“That might work.”

“Or maybe I’ll send her a fruit basket and tickets for The Ataris.”

“Hmmm… You might want to stick with the flowers.”

“You’re right, Joe. Flowers it is. I’ll show her that I understand commitment. That I live for commitment. I mean, I love that woman, Joe, and I don’t want this to turn out like my last marriage.”

“What? Last marriage? Do you mean to tell me that you had trouble with commitment with your first wife as well?”

“Uh? Oh, no. My first wife left me when she discovered that I took my secretary to see Janis Ian and Marshall Crenshaw.”

“Oh.”

“Or was that my third wife? Hmmm, I’ll have to think about that one. Anyway, it was my seventh wife that said I had a problem with commitment.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah. I guess I’ll never understand women.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

“Could I have another margarita, Joe?”

“Coming right up. Blended or stirred?”

“Blended. No, stirred. On second thought, make it a beer.”