…with mixed results.
“The place is simply pullulating with women! …oh wait.”
“I’ve got a basket of strawberries stolen off the waffles at brunch, and a bottle of the cheapest wine I could find— it’s called something with a circumflex in the title, and is too hipster for you to have tasted, so don’t pretend.”
“Quick, to the B43! Nanny Hawkins awaits!”
“Over there’s a nice tree to sit under…. but we’ll have to wait until nightfall unless we want to get arrested for violating open container laws while underaged.”
“Just the place to bury a crock of gold… if I were the sort of person to exploit my white privilege and squander precious resources while feeding into the socially-constructed idea of gold as a ‘superior’ metal.”
“I’d love to, but I’ve already promised to take Aloysius to Pet-A-Pet Day… as a patron, since that wicked woman said he didn’t count as a petable pet.”
On a similar yet WILDLY DIFFERENT note: hooray!
I think I’ve found my new favorite pastime.