Recently I was driving along listening to the radio when Rod Stewart came on belting an oldie I was familiar with. Then immediately after, I heard The Band Perry entertaining me with one of their songs. As I listened, I cleverly put the two songs together in my mind and couldn’t wait to get home to croon my new ditty to Gar. Bursting through the door, I hurriedly strode straight to Gar’s office and cornered him at his desk. He started to stand, I presume to hug me, but I put my hands on his shoulders and settled him back in his chair. Then feeling very foxy, I chortled, “I have an eschewed version of a couple songs and you are gonna be so proud.”
He never knows if he should relax and enjoy the show or bolt for the nearest exit. He’s dealt with me and my shenanigans for so long that if I was a good person, I’d almost feel sorry for him.
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