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When We Were Egg Foo Young

“So, let me get this straight. You call the Chinese restaurant down the block and order one and only one egg roll?” I hope I didn’t sound too harsh. But seriously, one egg roll? Who does that?

With a gleeful smile on her face, “Well, yeah. Like, in the beginning they wouldn’t do it, so one day I just went over to the place and flirted with one of the managers. I guess it worked, cause the next time I called, I kind of whined in a sweet, innocent voice and promised to come and say hello next time.”

That’s it? That’s all? What the hell! “Wow. I guess it gets lonely over there amidst the egg foo young and sweet and sour chicken. Did you end up going back and saying hello?”

A bit playful yet devious, “Well, I haven’t yet. But I will, someday. You know, someday. Why? Do you think I’m crazy?” No, of course not. Completely sane. Completely.

“Yeah, you’re fucking nuts. If I was the delivery guy, I’d be pissed to shit. Wait, how much do you tip the guy?”

Popping her gum, “Um, like two dollars. The egg roll is like a dollar fifty. I figured twenty percent of a dollar fifty is a bit insulting.”

Yeah, I’ll say that. “You get away with so much.”

Agreeing, “Yeah, I do. Isn’t it wonderful?” Yeah, something like that. Something like that.