Dear Sylvia:

Why do I know your name? Because you gave everyone in the store your 2014-15 itinerary so we would all know how wealthy your husband is. This is Dallas. I’ve seen two different million dollar plus rings on chicks drinking beer from the bottle at Mexican restaurants, and I’ve only lived here a few months. No one cares.

Slow your roll.


PS. Your claim to have been at a private concert with Pink Floyd seems unlikely given that you referred to Pink Floyd as a person. I need to go home now so that I can get comfortably numb and forget how you just wasted the last 30 minutes of my life.