Oh, yes. I've always had strange taste. Give me a med student with clean cut good looks, a nice car, the best education, wealthy parents, ambition, and I want nothing to do with him. But give me a tattooed, pierced, moody musician working a damn near minimum wage job, with scruffy good looks, and a fancy for pain pills, and I'm asking him if I can buy him dinner.
Actually, I brought my posse round and we raised up on the bitch. I kid, I kid. A concillitory e-mail did the trick. Lord knows I don't want any bad blood on Turkey Day.
Go figure.
By the way do you know if Nair works on palms?