Hard Vanilla

      This afternoon, I had the good fortune to be hired by a fellow who wanted the services I specialize best in.  He wanted them in the worst possible way.  This guy was the real deal (like me).  There are not too many out there like him.

       I landed on him like a ton of bricks.

       We made quite a racket.  I talked a lot.  He made…interesting vocalizations.

     After I showed him out (he limped down the stairs, clutching the handrail like a feeble old man), my two African-American coworkers stared at me wide-eyed, perched on the edge of their chairs.  They looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

       “Oh my God!” one of them said.  “I’m surprised that guy walked out of here!  It sounded like you were putting him in traction! ‘Confession is good for the soul!’ All that stuff you said! Oh my God, you were hard!  I’m going to start calling you Hard Vanilla!”

      I started to laugh as I snapped on a fresh pair of surgical gloves and fetched the bleach and mop bucket.


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