I arrived home from work to find a large, pink party bus parked in my estate’s expansive driveway, “Pete’s Pussycat Emporium” emblazoned on the side. I pulled up next to it and observed a familiar figure seated at the steering wheel.
The other driver and I exited our vehicles simultaneously. “Pete,” I said, nodding curtly as he approached. “What brings you here?”
“Hello Mr. Carver,” Pete said. “So glad to see you. I was hoping to discuss the recent unpleasantness you had with one of my lovely ladies?”
“Ah ha, so that’s your game! Better Business Bureau told you about my complaint, so you hightail it over here to ream me out. Is that it?”
“Ream you out? Oh, you must have me confused with one of my lovely ladies!” He raised his hands in mock surrender and tittered. “No, I’m here to apologize most humbly.”
“Yes, well, you certainly do owe me an apology. A case of crabs is no laughing matter!”
“Of course not, Mr. Carver. But please — we have long, long business relationship. Is there nothing I can do to make this right? You name it, I do it with sincere smile!”
I scratched my chin thoughtfully and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the breach of trust that disturbs me most. How am I to know it won’t happen again?”
“Mr. Carver, you been my number one customer, many long years. Never, never, never till now you ever catch pubic lice from one of my lovely ladies. That’s a premium track record, is it not?”
“Alright, you have a point there.”
“Of course I have point! And here’s what you have.” He shoved a plastic card into my hands.
“Special VIP card for you only — good for ten free dates with any of my lovely ladies.”
“Huh. Ten dates? Or ten ladies?”
“Ten dates, Mr. Carver. I know how much you love your six packs!”
I couldn’t help but smile at that, and extended my hand to shake. “Alright Pete, I guess I can call the BBB and withdraw my complaint. But one more dose of crabs and I’m taking my business back to Madame Ching’s House of Exotic Massage! Do we have an understanding?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Carver,” Pete said, grasping my hand warmly. “And thank you, thank you, many million times thank you. I look forward to providing you with many, many lovely ladies in the future.”
“Alright then,” I said, turning to enter my mansion. “Oh, and one more thing — why does the bus say ‘Pete’s Pussycat Emporium?’ What happened to ‘Poontang?’”
“Oh that,” he said. “We did market research and learned that ‘Poontang’ was off-putting to certain demographics, especially old people and families with kids. They don’t like ‘Poontang!’ But everybody love pussycats, and we want everybody’s business! Also much easier to get ad on television when you’re not saying ‘Poontang’ every two seconds.”
Personally, I think “Poontang” sounds better. But I’ve never been one to argue with a solid business plan, so I congratulated Pete on his savvy and sent him on his way. I’m just glad we could settle our differences. Sure, Madame Ching’s is an option for those who prefer to rent love by the hour, but the talent there is strictly second-rate compared to what Pete has to offer. Now? I don’t need to compromise. Kismet.
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