Monthly Archives: August 2010

The Post-It Note

25 Wednesday Aug 2010

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The Post-it Note.  No one can deny that it’s kind of a big deal in today’s world.  After all, it has had some great exposure in a number of popular TV shows and movies throughout the years.  There was the famous “Michelle invented the Post-it Note” scene in the movie Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion. There was the ever-so-popular “Carrie got dumped on a Post-it Note” episode of Sex and the City.  And then of course, there was the romantic “exchange of wedding vows on a Post-it Note” scene between McDreamy and Meredith on Grey’s Anatomy last year.  And as exciting as all of these Post-it Note events were to watch, I can guarantee you, that there is no better Post-it Note moment than the one that I experienced myself.  Yup, it’s true!  I, Dean, was asked out by a boy…via a Post-it Note.

Allow me to tell you about how this noteworthy event went down.  It all started one cold evening in San Francisco after coming home very drunk from a Friday night happy hour.  For several minutes, I just stood outside my apartment building, fumbling through my bottomless bag, desperately searching for the keys to my apartment.  My neighbor, who had lived across the hall from me for over 2 years, and who had never once said hello to me, was also standing outside that night, puffing on a cigarette.  He curiously watched me as I pulled items out from my bag, one by one, and laid them neatly in a row on the sidewalk.  (Note: when you are drunk, it is especially difficult to find things such as keys in your purse.  And supposedly, it’s easier to find missing items if you lay them out in front of you…on a sidewalk.)

For whatever reason that night, I found it necessary to call out loud the names of each of the items that were in my purse.  “Gum, Tide Stick, Hand Sanitizer, Midol, Lip Gloss, Wallet….” My neighbor just stood there, un-phased, watching me (and listening to me) as I explained to him what each of the items was that were in my purse.  It wasn’t until I pulled out from my bag a badly bruised banana (and called out to him that the item was a banana) that his curiosity peaked.

“What’s the banana for?” my neighbor asked.

“I have no idea where that came from.”  I told him as I laid it on the sidewalk next to all of my other personal belongings.  ”But I guess I have some breakfast now for tomorrow morning.”

Moments later, I found my keys.  It turns out that they weren’t in my bag after all but rather in the left pocket of the coat I had been wearing that night.  After finding them, I gathered all of my belongings and let myself into the building while calling out to my neighbor one last time for the night, “keys”.

The End

Or so you would think!  But the next morning, I opened the front door to my apartment…and there on the floor in front of me, was a box of Grape Nuts cereal with a Post-it Note stuck to it that read, “I thought you might like some cereal to have with your banana.”

I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing!  My unfriendly neighbor had actually left me, Dean, a box of cereal and a Post-it Note!  I knew right away that I wanted to give something back.  So I did what any other girl would do in my situation and left him a bag of flour at his door with a Post-it Note that read, “A little flour for you to make me some pancakes sometime.”

All morning I had this feeling of excitement looming over me.  I kept on opening the door to my apartment and checking to see if my neighbor had left me another note.  But as the hours passed, I just kept on checking and waiting, and there were no notes (or cereal boxes) left at my door.  It wasn’t until the nextmorning, after I had already written him off on my head that I would never hear from him again, that I had received another note from him.  There, stuck to my door, was a series of numbered Post-It Notes!  He thanked me for the flour (as any nice neighbor would) in the first Post-it Note and explained to me in the second Post-it Note that pancakes were not his “thing”.  In his third Post-it Note, he explained that he was more of a “wine and cheese type of guy”.  And, in his last Post-it Note, he asked me if I cared to come over for some wine and cheese.  (In other words, Mixie, I was asked out on a date on a Post-it Note!)

I re-read his Post-it Notes a dozen times that morning but I still wasn’t exactly sure about how to respond.  I mean, I have been asked out by dozens of boys before via email, text messages, voicemails, and IMs.  But never in my life had I been asked out on a Post-it Note before!  I mean what exactly is the Post-it Note protocol, anyway?  I don’t think that this rule has ever been written before.  Are you supposed to respond right away?  Or does one apply the “wait at least 24-hours to respond” rule?

After much deliberation and some quick (and unhelpful) online research, I made the decision to wait at least 24-hours before responding to his Post-it Notes.  After all, I think that no matter what means a boy uses to ask a girl out, it’s always important to portray to the boy that you are a busy person and that you are not just sitting around in your apartment all day, waiting for him to leave you a Post-it Note on your door.  So I didn’t respond and I took a nap instead.  After all, taking a nap is kind of like being busy. Right?

Apparently my lack of response somewhat freaked out my neighbor.  The very next day, there were more numbered Post-it Notes stuck to my door.  In the first note he explained to me that he had discussed our situation with his guy friends and they all agreed that he was being too forward by asking me over to his apartment.  In the second Post-it Note he apologized for coming across too strong.  In his third Post-it Note, he explained that he didn’t want anything more from me other than simply getting to know his neighbor.  In the fourth note, he suggested that he come over to my apartment with a bottle of wine and some cheese.  And in the fifth note, he suggested that I be in charge of supplying the plates and the wine glasses.

I knew this time around that I needed to respond right away to his Post-it Notes.  Perhaps the 24-hour rule doesn’t apply to Post-it Note dating after all?  (I’m thinking that I really need to do some research on this one as I am still not exactly clear on what the protocol is for Post-it Note dating.)  I wrote him back immediately on a really cool Post-it Note that I happened to have stashed away in the junk drawer of my desk.  The Post-it Note was lime green and had a cartoon of a white dog printed on it with a callout above it that read “Woof”.

In my note to him, I wrote, “Sorry for not getting back to you sooner.  I was VERY busy all day.  I would be delighted if you stopped by tonight with some wine and cheese.  And it just so happens that my plans for the evening (that I of course never had) just opened up.”

Later that day, I received a Post-it Note on my door that said, “Keep it down in there!  Your dog is barkingvery loudly.  I can hear his “woofing” from across the hall!”  (You see that?  My Post-it Note neighbor was funny!  He actually told me a joke…on a Post-it Note!)

That night, my Post-it Note boyfriend did just what he wrote to me he would.  He came by my apartment with a bottle of wine, some cheese, and a muzzle for my Post-it Note dog.  It was all very cute, really…

But as Post-it Note guy and I talked in person, I realized fairly quickly that this guy was just not for me.  He might have been great on paper (literally) but as he sat across from me in my living room, it was quite clear that he was simply not as impressive in real life.  So there I was, sitting in my living room, trying to figure out how exactly to get myself out of this “sticky” situation.

You see, boys come at us from all different angles of life.  Some boys call us.  Some boys text us.  Some boys instant message us.  And some boys leave you Post-it Notes on your front door (and give you boxes of cereal and muzzles for your pretend dog that you don’t really have).  But any way you look it at it, it doesn’t so much matter how it is that they get to you.  It’s more important that when they do get to you, that you actually want them to stay.  Because in the end, wouldn’t it be great to be “stuck on” boys that we actually like?

Now, here’s to actually finding these boys….

 

Apples or Corn?

18 Wednesday Aug 2010

Posted by in Dean's Deep Thoughts

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You’ve probably been wondering where I’ve been hiding for the past few weeks.  I most certainly have not been writing as much as I normally do.  Knowing you, you probably were worried sick that I had disappeared for good and would no longer be around to offer you life advice on your everyday experiences.  The thing is, is that I’ve been traveling a lot; traveling to various cities around the United States trying to decide where I should make my next move.  And it’s one TOUGH decision…

My days in San Francisco are slowly coming to an end.  While traveling, it suddenly became clear to me that if I stay in San Francisco, I will never get that washing machine/dryer combo that I have always dreamt of having.  I will never have a garaged parking spot for my car.  I will never be able to purchase a home.  But most importantly, I realized recently, that if I stay in San Francisco, I will never find that cornfed husband that I so desperately want to meet.  (As everyone knows, the cornfed boy does not exist in San Francisco.)

In the past month I have visited both Chicago (land of the cornfeds) and New York City (the city of big apples).  After visiting both places, I just can’t decide which city is ultimately a better place for me to move to.

I mean Chicago…it was AMAZING.  Everywhere I looked, there were cornfed boys.  They were sprouting up in cornfields that I never even knew existed before!  Every restaurant I went to, every bar I walked into, there were these handsome, mid-western, cornfed boys, all just hanging out with each other in large herds.  It was truly a beautiful sight.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like there were actually boys to choose from in Chicago (as opposed to the slim pickings that are in San Francisco).  And these boys took me out on dates in Chicago.  Like nice dates!  The kind of dates where they paid for my meal, held the door open for me, walked me home, and even called (not texted) the very next day.  I had never experienced anything like this before in my life.  A few days after I left the land of the cornfeds, I decided once and for all to take the plunge and move to Chicago.  I even started putting together a plan to make this move a reality…

But while I was in the midst of planning my big move to the land of the cornfeds, Mixie, I headed to NYC for an already arranged bachelorette party.  I hadn’t ever planned on liking NYC or ever even considered it as a place to move to before.  I mean I know that NYC has great cheesecake and amazing bagels.  Albeit these are both good reasons, are they as compelling as the corn that awaits me in another state?  I am not sure?

So NYC might not have the corn that I am looking for, but it does have a lot of other things that could be good for my soul.  First of all, I know a lot of people in NYC.  Sure, none of these people grew up on farms, or even walked through a corn maze before.  But still, at the end of the day, I have existing, strong relationships with these people.  And they are good relationships too…even if they are New Yorkers.

Many people have also told me that there are a lot of rich men who live in NYC.  Supposedly, it’s considered to be the land of the wealthy people.  With all of those suit-wearing, Wall Street-type bankers, I guess it makes sense.  (I also know about rich people living in NYC from watching the Real Housewives of NYC.  There’s no Real Housewives of Chicago season being aired on Bravo these days.  Perhaps rich people just don’t exist in Chicago?)  So, if it’s a wealthy husband that I am seeking, because I would like to find a man who can support me and my lavish lifestyle, I can’t help but wonder, would NYC be the better place to move to?

Lastly, and probably most importantly, there are Tasti D-Lites all over NYC.  And, I do LOVE my ice cream!  Living in NYC would allow me to eat ice cream everyday of the week without feeling any bit of guilt.  Ice cream is the one possible food group that could potentially trump corn.

So, as you can see, I have an impossible decision to make.  Do I move to Chicago to meet the cornfed husband I’ve been dreaming about for years?  Or do I move to NYC and be fully content in my relationship with low-calorie ice cream?

Someone out there.  Please, tell me what to do.

Corn Pops or Apple Jacks?

 

Who Is That Boy In The Window?

17 Tuesday Aug 2010

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I may never find love in the outside world, Mixie.  But I am fortunate in so many other ways.  After all, I have experienced something extraordinary in my inside world that most people have never had the opportunity of experiencing.  I, Dean, had a relationship with a boy through my kitchen window.  His name was George.  George Glass.  And he was my window boyfriend.  (Note: This is not his real name but rather a name that I have carefully selected for him to help conceal my window boyfriend’s true identity.)

Typically, when I tell people about my window boyfriend, they immediately assume that George Glass and I had lived in the same apartment building and that we were friends.  But, we didn’t actually live in the same building.  And I wouldn’t exactly call George Glass my friend…

I can’t quite recall the exact moment when George Glass became my official window boyfriend.  (Although we talked all of the time through our respective windows, we never did have “the talk” so it’s hard to pinpoint an exact date.)  Much like any serious relationship, my relationship with George Glass was something that developed more deeply over time.  What had started out as a friendly wave hello through a closed window, later developed into a string of serious conversations through our open windows.  After just a short time, George Glass and I were undeniably in a full-blown, established, window relationship.

George Glass and I were involved in a “long distance” relationship, as our windows weren’t all that close to each other.  We did live in two separate apartment buildings, after all!  Our windows were actually spread SO far apart, that we had to yell at each other just to hear what the other person was saying.  I am quite certain that because we spoke so loudly to each other that many of our neighbors were probably overhearing our conversations.  (I can’t help but wonder if perhaps any of these neighbors ever became envious of my relationship with George Glass?  What we shared with each other was most definitely unique and heartfelt.  Certainly, there must have been some neighbors who wished they could have experienced on their own what we shared with each other.)

In the beginning of our courtship, our conversations were fairly simple and innocent.   Typically, we would discuss our dinner selections for the evening.  Every night, he would gaze at me through his kitchen window, and watch me pour myself a generous bowl of cereal.  Eventually he would open his window and call out to me.

“Cereal again?” he always asked.  “What kind tonight?”

“Frosted Mini-Wheats,” I always answered.  “What are you making tonight?”

“Chicken parmesan with a side of organic vegetables that I hand-picked from the local farmers market today.”  (He didn’t cook this very meal every night.  But you get the gist.  George Glass was a cook.  Like a real cook who owned pots and pans and spices and an apron.)  Watching George Glass create these masterpieces each and every night was an impressive sight, especially for someone like myself who can barely scramble an egg.

After about a year of discussing only dinners with each other through our respective windows, George Glass and I finally took our relationship to a new level.  I think we both felt that it was time for us to become more serious in our established relationship.  Once only window companions, we were now Facebook friends as well.  This new development provided me with a whole new insight on George Glass that I had never been exposed to before.  As his Facebook friend, I was now privy to when he was taking trips, what marathons he was participating in, and when his sister was getting married.  Our relationship had suddenly been redefined from the “casual” state to something a lot more “serious”.  (If Facebook had the option for selecting “in a window relationship”, we both would have undoubtedly checked this box.)

George Glass took an equal interest viewing my profile on Facebook.  I am certain of this because the night before my birthday last year, he yelled out his window to wish me a happy birthday.  (I had never discussed my birthday with him in person so the only way he could have known it was my birthday was through Facebook.)  He also consistently asked me questions about trips that I had taken and about special nights out with my friends.  All clear signs that George Glass had been thoroughly investigating my Facebook profile.

As if becoming Facebook friends wasn’t meaningful enough, George Glass and I eventually exchanged phone numbers.  This was obviously a HUGE next step in our blossoming window relationship.  (I mean what typically comes after a phone number exchange?  I believe that the only next logical milestone would be to meet the parents…through the window, of course.)  Pretty soon, George Glass and I were steadily texting each other and asking each other to come to the window at various points throughout the day.  I knew for sure that we had something pretty extraordinary when George Glass drunk texted me late one night and asked me to come to the window.  Sure, we talked every night right around dinnertime, (and some nights after dinner too), but never before had I received a late-night, drunken text from George Glass!  I can safely say that it was an unforgettable moment for each of us that night, to be standing there in our respective windows, each of us wearing our pajamas, just gazing at each other, from a distance.  I remember thinking to myself at that moment that I would never, ever buy curtains for any other window, ever again.  The feeling was too good and I simply wanted it to last forever.

And this feeling did last for quite some time.  Our relationship was going pretty strong until one day George Glass announced (through the window) that he was leaving me.  Supposedly, he had found another apartment on the other side of town.  George Glass was moving on to another window.  As much as I didn’t want it to happen, as much as I didn’t want to let him out of my sight, I knew that the situation was out of my control.  There was nothing that I could do to get George Glass to remain in my view.

A few weeks after George Glass announced that he was leaving me, a new boy moved into his old apartment.  But things were just not the same with this boy.  This new window boy was different.  He most certainly was not George Glass.  The first time I caught glimpse of this new boy in the window, I reluctantly waved at him.  He didn’t wave back.  He didn’t even acknowledge me for that matter.  And just a few short seconds later, the new window boy closed the blinds on me.  He shut me out.  Just like that.  My once clear view into the kitchen of my window boyfriend had been suddenly obstructed.  I couldn’t see what he cooked each night nor did he ever call me to the window.

So there you have it.  One never knows where they might find their next relationship.  It could be through the window of your car (if you had one), or through the window of a train.  The lesson here is to just keep searching for that relationship and to never shut your blinds on it.  You must always leave your windows open and show your neighbors that you are open to have a relationship with them.  Because you never know.  One day, you might just be staring out your kitchen window…and into the eyes of your very own window boyfriend.

And, with just a little bit of Windex, your world could be a whole lot brighter.

 

The Blind Date

04 Wednesday Aug 2010

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I recently went on a blind date with someone who I had communicated with on JDate.  I’ll call this Jewish boy, Ray, to help conceal his identity.  On paper Ray seemed like a pretty good catch.  He was tall (especially for a Jewish boy who is typically 5’9″) and quite good-looking.  He had also earned his MBA from Stanford and owned and operated a successful consulting business.  It also didn’t hurt that Ray wore a suit in two of the three pictures that he posted on his profile.  In his third picture, he was posing with a dog.  So, in a nutshell, Ray was a tall, suit-wearing, business-owner who owned a dog; admittedly all very good qualities for a future husband.

I suggested meeting Ray for a coffee at a local cafe in my neighborhood.  (Tip 1: Coffee is always a safe bet for a blind date because you can easily excuse yourself after only 30 minutes.  That’s the 30-minute rule.)  I arrived at the cafe before Ray did and carefully selected a table for us that was far away from any windows.  (Tip 2: Sitting away from the windows is especially important to do on a blind date because if your date turns out to be really unattractive or embarrassing, the chance of being seen by others is significantly reduced if you are seated away from the window.)

When Ray walked into the cafe, I was engrossed in my iPhone by playing a game of solitaire.  (Tip 3: When on a blind date, it’s important to create an illusion that you have lots going on with your life.  This is absolutely necessary because if your date goes badly (or is unattractive for that matter) you can easily make up an excuse to leave.)  I made sure not to look up right away when Ray walked into the cafe  (even though I saw him out of the corner of my eye).  I didn’t want him to think that I could drop everything (i.e. a game of solitaire) just because he walked into the room.  After all, I was in the middle of a really good round.

I realized pretty quickly that Ray was not nearly as attractive as he was in his profile photos.  It’s funny how a suit can make a man appear to be quite good-looking when in reality he’s not.  Ray looked around the room and eventually made his way over to my table.  And even though he wasn’t at all what I had been hoping for (or expecting), I did the right thing and quit my game of solitaire and stood up to give him a hug.  (Tip 4:  It’s very important that when you are on a blind date, in a public setting, that you don’t make others aware of the fact that you don’t know the person you are meeting.  This could ultimately lead to embarrassment and cause you to be the victim of  many stares from the people around you.  Even if your date is unattractive, take ownership of the situation you created for yourself and do your best to make it seem like you are best of friends with your blind date.)  Initiating a hug with your blind date also exudes confidence.

Ray sat down at my table and said nothing.  Literally nothing.  In return, I said nothing back to him.  We both just sat there at our table for several minutes in pure silence.  Eventually, we started to talk.  But our conversation was simply a rehash of everything we already knew about each other from reading each others profiles.  For instance, I learned that night that Ray earned his MBA from Stanford and owned his own consulting business (that apparently was very successful).  It turns out that Ray didn’t own a dog though.  The picture of him posing with a dog on Jdate was his friend’s dog.  It was all very interesting.  And by interesting I mean a completely and utterly boring conversation.  I wished from the moment that Ray had walked into the cafe that I could be anywhere but where I was at that very moment.

Much to my surprise, before I could even muster up a lie and tell Ray that I had to leave because I thought I had left my gas stove on, Ray excused himself from our table to go to bathroom.  He walked away and I instantly went back to playing solitaire on my iPhone.  (Again, I was creating the illusion that I was a very important and busy individual.)  It turns out that Ray was in the bathroom for a long time.  Like a really, really long time.  I would have been extremely concerned for his well-being had I not been so distracted by my winning streak in solitaire.  (I won three times in a row while he was in the bathroom doing whatever it was he was doing in there!)

When Ray came back to our table he didn’t even bother to sit down again.  Instead, he told me right away that he needed to go.  Feeling a tremendous sense of relief that I didn’t have to spend a moment longer with Ray, I quickly jumped out of my seat and told him that I understood.  Again, we didn’t say a single word to each other as we walked out the door of the cafe.

Now outside, we walked a few more steps together in complete silence.  I couldn’t wait to send Ray on his way and to be done with him once and for all.  I thanked him for meeting me and initiated the second hug of the evening.  (Again, I was exuding confidence for my blind date.)  We embraced for all of two seconds and said our quick good-byes.  Ray turned around to cross the street and….walked right smack into an electrical pole.  No joke.  Ray walked head-on into a pole.  And that is exactly how my blind date ended.

So I guess we now know how the the term “blind date” came to be.  Apparently, love is blind.

 

I Think I’m In Love With My EMT

03 Tuesday Aug 2010

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Not many people can say this.  But it’s true.  I, Dean, think I’m in love with my EMT.  You are probably thinking, “how does one get an EMT let alone fall in love with one”?  Well for me, I fell in love with my EMT the very moment that he stepped foot into my apartment one morning over a year ago…

I’m not sure if it was his navy-colored uniform that made me fall in love with him or if it was the way he looked deeply into my eyes as he put an oxygen mask over my mouth.   Or it could have been the way he held me close to his body as he pulled me out of my bed.  Most likely though, it was all the drugs that he administered on me that morning.   Either way though, it doesn’t matter.  All I know is that it was my EMT who caused my heart to pump a little harder that morning…

It was a dreary Saturday morning.  (Actually, I have no idea if it was a dreary day or not.  But it feels like an appropriate way to start this story.)  I had suffered from a back injury, a slipped disc, that left me literally paralyzed in my own bed.  I could not move any part of my lower body.  I couldn’t roll over.  I couldn’t sit up.  I couldn’t do anything.  The pain was so bad that I had to call my friend and ask her to come over and rescue me.  The chain on my front door had been locked and my friend actually had to purchase a set of chain cutters to break into my apartment to get to me.  (Fortunately, I now own a very expensive, top-of-the-line, pair of chain cutters.  They are quite big and look very dangerous.  There’s no doubt that any boy I show these chain cutters to would certainly be impressed.)

Once my friend had successfully broke and entered into my apartment, we deliberated for nearly 30 minutes on what we should do.  I mean what does someone normally do when there is a paralyzed person stuck in bed?  You call 9-1-1!  That’s what you do.  Everyone knows that.

Well, we knew that calling 9-1-1 was the right thing to do, too.  But for whatever reason, we were just too afraid to pick up the phone and make that scary call.  Had I known though that my EMT would be so beautiful, so perfect, so dreamy, he undoubtedly would have been the first person I called that morning.  In fact, I would like to call him every morning now.  But that’s besides the point.

I was at my absolute worst that morning.  My hair was a mess.  I had no make-up on.  I had morning breath.  I had been crying earlier from fear and my eyes were puffy and swollen.  There was nothing about me that was attractive.  And of course, the morning that I was looking and feeling my absolute worst, was the morning that my beautiful EMT saw me for the first time.  It was love at first sight (for me anyway).

My EMT was so calm and collected when he approached my bedside and I was as flustered as could be.  But not because of my back pain or because I had to pee so badly.  I was a mess because there standing over me was the most beautiful EMT I had ever seen.  And there I was, hopelessly lying in bed, not able to move.

My EMT hero took control of the situation and carefully lifted me out of bed.  There we were.  Face to face.  My morning breath blowing in his face.  My hands draped around his neck.  His hands firmly gripped around my waist.  I held on to him tightly as he slowly walked me down my long hallway…and into my bathroom.  It was quite a moment that we shared together…as he lowered me down onto the toilet.  And as much as I wanted and needed to pee, I didn’t want him to let go of me.  I wanted that moment where my EMT was holding me, to last forever.

Much to my disappointment, and lack of memory due to all of the drugs I was on, that moment that I had so wanted to last forever quickly came to an end.  He lifted me off the toilet, carried me out of my apartment in a stretcher, and whisked me off to the hospital in his ambulance.  My friend told me that my EMT did come to visit me later that day in the emergency room but I was too drugged-up to notice.

From time to time I still see my beautiful EMT parked in his ambulance outside of the Starbucks in my neighborhood.  One afternoon, I even mustered up the courage to speak to him.  I approached his ambulance while he was sitting in the front passenger seat, sipping on a latte and munching on a glazed donut.

I couldn’t be happier that day when he told me that he remembered who I was.  He even told me that he had always wondered what had happened to me that “dreadful” morning.  My happiness quickly turned to sadness though when he didn’t do the obvious right thing and ask me to marry him.  He didn’t even ask me out on a date for that matter.

I don’t get it.  My EMT and I shared a really special moment together and he never even attempted to ask me out.  I mean, really, could there be a better love story than ours?  I think not.  Now I fear that my dream of us driving away from our wedding ceremony together in an ambulance with a sign that reads, “Just Married” might never happen.  It’s a sad reality and I am thinking that I may have to move on to someone new.

I’m thinking now about moving on to surgeons.  I know that they don’t drive ambulances, make house visits, or wear those tight-fitting paramedic uniforms.  But supposedly surgeons make great husbands. I know this from watching Boston Med on Thursday nights.

And to my EMT:  If you happen to be reading this and ever want to practice your CPR skills on someone, call me.  I promise that next time you rescue me, I’ll have minty fresh breath.

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