So there we are,
my fiancée and I, sitting in the parking lot of this North County strip mall and sucking down frozen treats of the highest caliber when that feeling hits, that euphoria that comes right before you slip into a full on Ice Cream Coma, and I look off to the left and say, “We should knock over that Nanny’s Nice Nails over there.”
She doesn’t look up from her chocolate dipped waffle bowl of dairy deliciousness. She simply says, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Really? I think it’s a great idea.”
“Mm-mmm. Nope.”
“Aw, come ON, man. You can’t say we don’t need the money.”
“We’d never make it out alive. They probably all know karate.”
I take another slurp of my shake and think about this for a second. “Damn. You’re probably right. I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”
“See? Aren’t you glad you’re marrying me?”
“Damn right. That could’ve ended really badly.”