Golden Years, My Kiester

Leaving the hair saloon, the Pickle Queen couldn’t find her car keys. They weren’t in her purse or her pockets. Suddenly she realized that she must have left them in the car. Frantically, she headed for the parking lot. I have scolded her many times for leaving the keys in the ignition as I am afraid that the car could be stolen. As she looked around the parking lot, she realized I was right. The parking lot was empty. She immediately called the police. She gave them the location, described the car, gave them the license tab number and confessed to them that she had left the keys in the car, and that it had been stolen.

Then she made the most difficult phone call of all to me. “I left my keys in the car and it’s been stolen,” she told me.

After a moment or two of silence, thinking that the call had been disconnected, she asked, “Did you hear me?”

“Are you kidding me?” I barked back, “I dropped you off!”

Now it was her turn to be silent. Embarrassed she said, “Well, come and get me.”

With some disdain I answered, “I will, just as soon as I convince this cop that I didn’t steal your damn car!”

Golden years, my kiester!

Keep your fork


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