Walking along the Promenade yesterday, we strode along a young couple on vacation from England (I presumed from the invariable bright pink of tourists in Santa Monica, and from their accent). We come to a stop at the light.
Across the street was the Victoria Secret store of sexy lingerie fame, that women adore in all its Pinkness. To the left was a pizza stop. At the crossroads of a fledging relationship, the guy gives a grimace.
"Oh I know that look, it's the but-I-don't-wanna-go-shopping look." chimes my jolly-wolly hubby to them.
The guy shoots us a look of self-pity and moans "We've been at it for 3 hours."
To which the hubs heartily dispenses some empathy and oft-executed advice
"Oh I totally understand. There's a Borders right down the block - make a dash for it."
How's that for instant camaraderie.
Across the street was the Victoria Secret store of sexy lingerie fame, that women adore in all its Pinkness. To the left was a pizza stop. At the crossroads of a fledging relationship, the guy gives a grimace.
"Oh I know that look, it's the but-I-don't-wanna-go-shopping look." chimes my jolly-wolly hubby to them.
The guy shoots us a look of self-pity and moans "We've been at it for 3 hours."
To which the hubs heartily dispenses some empathy and oft-executed advice
"Oh I totally understand. There's a Borders right down the block - make a dash for it."
How's that for instant camaraderie.
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