What Would You Do For A Klondike Bar?

Do you hear the jingle? What would you do-oo-oooo for a Klondike bar?

This damn song has gone around my brain for the last 30 years. I seriously remember smoking weed with my high schooler friends, never in my car because I didn’t have one, and finding myself in the backseat because I failed to say “shotgun” fast enough, and I thought it would be oh-so-cute to sing that, in the driver’s ear. Fool be me. I have never thought it was cute since because it plagues me. Let me share some other things that I cringe at.

My sphincter was nuked by radiation and the doctor was suggesting I gently massage the area, but I thought it would be funny to suggest instead that I bounce on a toy. Oh and this was after I asked the nurse for the edible thong instead of the paper gown and shorts I was given. “what? Don’t tell me I’m the first to ask?” But I was the first.

As JB, way early on, so early on that it was my very first incall we are reminiscing about, I had a client come visit me and I asked him if he’d be so kind as to put a rolling desk thingee together for me because it had been attempted assembly, but was all kinds of wrong. So he (Cowboy something or another on ECCIE or OURHOME2) graciously obliged and then after that and festivities were done, he asked what he owed me and without thinking even for one moment, I said whatever my rate was for the entire time he had been there, not the time we were scheduled for, not taking into consideration that this dude helped me. WTF was I thinking? That deserves something. And I failed big time. But this is a perfect segue to my next blog post— I Too Was Victim of GPS!