And...Paul's business is to sell new guitars....at least until the company decides to set up an "aftermarket, pre-owned" department like I've been begging them to do for years. I would even retire to take that position at $1 a year....so long as I got a percentage of sales from this separate profit center.:congrats:
...and now that we've heard from our advertisers, we return you to your regular Obessional Confessional programming.
"Darling..."
"What is it, dear?"
"I have a confession to make."
(theater organ diminished chord held)
"Well...go on...what has happened?"
"I don't know how to tell you this...it's....well..."
"Is it another woman, again?"
"No. Not this time."
"Another...man?"
"A man? Ha! ...well, ok, not this time, either."
"You're leaving me and moving to Paraguay to become a revolutionary like you've always dreamed?"
"No. It's...well...it's a guitar."
"Oh my god, not another guitar!! What's with you and these guitars?"
"I don't know. It's like...an....an..."
"Addiction. It's an addiction, isn't it? You're an addict! I married an addict! You're worse than drug addicts, the whole bunch of you! And I suppose you've been on that...that...forum again?"
"Yeah. I have. It's true. We've been discussing...well...we've been discussing wood again."
"God help us. I'm getting out of here right now. Give me the keys to our safety deposit box."
"What safety deposit box?"
"The one with our valuables, our jewelry, our bonds, our cash..."
"We never had a box."
"Yes we did."
"No we didn't."
"I beg to differ. We did."
"Didn't."
"Did. You spent it didn't you?"
"Spent what?"