Today I have to go to the bank and the dentist. I can’t decide which is worse. Having teeth drilled can actually be less painful than sitting in a cloud of imitation Givenchy and watching those horrible french manicure press-on nails clacking over the keyboard, and tapping on the desk and that becoiffed gold braceleted nightmare still has no idea how to do electronic transfers to the united states. My stomach acid increases just thinking about it. Anyway, I was just at the dentist 10 days ago- she only wants to see me again because she likes me. We sit around and talk about how fine it is to be great looking, we talk about the scene in Marathon Man, she looks at my mouth, admires her handiwork and lets me take a bunch of the shiny metal gumball machine rings that she gives to the kiddies.
Licketysplit used to be a bank teller! I remember well the days when she was darting off to copley in a peach colored suit and gold earrings. She would pass me by as i spent my filthy unemployed hours on the slab on newbury street, sipping iced coffee and waiting for something to happen. She would pop by afterwards and regale us with tales of incompetence that made stuffing the mattress with cash seem like sensible financial planning. Say, Lickety, what was in that suitcase anyway?!
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