Gina: Remember that Santa Claus I hit on in Macy’s last year?
Me: Yes, but you’re from Chicago, so I am going to titty twister you until you say what you just said correctly!
Gina: FINE. Remember that Santa Claus I hit on in Marshall Fields last year?
Me: Yes…why?
Gina: Because apparently he also remembers me. And he now works in my office.
Backstory: Gina and I went shopping last year and I was like ‘Let’s go see Santa!’ -because, well, it’s SANTA. So we go and sit on Santa’s lap and get our pictures taken. We had a couple of drinks beforehand, so the elves kept treating us like we were mentally retarded, which is another blog post in itself. Anyway, we get up to see Santa, and Gina starts talking about how all she wants for Christmas is a big old candy cane from Santa, and then proceeds – in perverted detail – to say what she would do with said candy cane. For the record, I asked for a Playstation 3 and that maybe the boots that I really want could go on sale for once. We then got our picture taken with a very flustered Santa, and went on our merry way.
Gina: So yeah, he works in my office now. Thankfully not in my department. He very much remembers me, and apparently does not like me.
Me: Karma has your name on the top of her list. You KNOW he is getting you for his Secret Santa this year. YOU KNOW IT.
Gina: I hope I get him! I’ll go to Loews and buy him one of those lawn ornament candy canes. Maybe I can fluster him enough he’ll quit this job too.
Me: It’s going to be a such a shock to him that you were sent to sensitivity training. I hope you enjoy hell.
Gina: Screw that! You know I am getting into heaven! Those pearly gates have brass bars on them – Jesus is going to need someone to shine them – and no one can shine a pole better than me!
Me: LMAO. I sincerely hope you are right. THAT would be my kind of heaven!
Gina: No, you’re kind of heaven is where your stupid hooker boots are always on sale. And your mop-bucket water never gets dirty, and everyone goes out to eat at an Applebees every night.
Me: I…I have never heard someone describe my heaven so perfectly.
Gina: What do you think my heaven will be like?
Me: Remember when Homer Simpson had that fantasy where he was in the land of chocolate and everything was made of chocolate, including the street lights?
Gina: Yeah?
Me: You’re will be like that, only with tons of phallus.
Gina: Now you’re just being a dick.
Me: AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN HEAVEN YET!