Buster
My mate Ristevski is heading over to Canada to play hockey, and he wanted to re-house his bulldog, Buster. He called me up and asked me if I wanted him. He is a one year old male, complete with the bulldog spot on his head and all. “I heard you had lost Chubby.”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know. Yes, Bruno, yes.” What the hell was I thinking, all the bulldog, without all the work.
“What do you say.”
“Yes, okay.” Just agree, don’t think about it.
“You mean it?”
“Yes, Ristevski, I mean it.”
“OMG thank you so much,” said Ristevski. “I had no plan B, you were it.”
“Okay,” I said. And thought.
But, truthfully, I was too excited to think anything into anything.
“Oh, yes. I don’t know. Yes, Bruno, yes.” What the hell was I thinking, all the bulldog, without all the work.
“What do you say.”
“Yes, okay.” Just agree, don’t think about it.
“You mean it?”
“Yes, Ristevski, I mean it.”
“OMG thank you so much,” said Ristevski. “I had no plan B, you were it.”
“Okay,” I said. And thought.
But, truthfully, I was too excited to think anything into anything.
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