Tonight, I think everyone should eat Sloppy Joes

Last week, I just wanted to grab him by the collar and shake until his huge-framed, 1980s glasses fell from his face.
This week, I wanted hug him until his huge-framed, 1980s glasses fell from his face.
On April 10, 2006, I made an appointment to get my taxes done. I hate tax season. It sucks.
I have no idea why I made the appointment. I ended up waiting for 20 minutes while the guy I opened the door for, who didn’t have an appointment, had his taxes done.
At least the receptionist was cute and very pleasant. I wanted to talk to her.
First, I used my shy guy routine and batted the eyelashes at her.
It didn’t work. Hmmm, I thought to myself. I’m going to have to try something new.
So, I pulled out my clicker. You know the lid to a Sun-Rype apple juice bottle. It makes a nice annoying noise. She’d have to politely ask me to stop or something. The conversation could carry on from there.
Click, Click, Click. Two whole minutes of clicking.
Still nothing. Then it hit me. I’m cursed by being really, really good looking. She was obviously intimidated and didn’t feel we were equals.
Ladies, I’m a normal person that’s just much better looking. I still have thoughts and stuff. Back me up Joel. I know you have the same problem at the College.
Then he came out of his office and called out my name. It was my time. It was just my time.
I carried my papers in with me. I was prepared. I even brought last year’s return. I had receipts, a mileage report, T4 and a bunch of other stuff.
We sat down and he looked over my information. I was pleased with everything I’d done.
He wasn’t. I forgot something and blah, blah, blah.
Anyway, I’m getting tired of this little tale, so I’m going to end it abruptly.
I’m getting twice the return I was expecting. Dave and I are now best friends. I want a pair of glasses like his.

Note: I do not consider myself bless with super good looks. I feel I’m okay to look at, but not for too long.