Pack up without a clue

Does anyone remember (and it's okay if you don't) that little old lady who called and wanted to place a free ad for 50 thousand books way back in November?  And how I told her for ten straight minutes that she could not do that?  And we came to some sort of grudging conclusion that 50 thousand books did not live up to the spirit of the free classified ad description?

Right.  So she called again today.  To place another book ad.

So I smack my head against the desk and say, look, here's what we can do: Westerns, 90 total (90!  Good lord!), $45 for all, will sell separately.  And she's all, no one is going to want all 90.  And I was like, word up, and when they call, you can tell them anything you want.  But THIS is the only way we're getting it into the free section.

And you know what?  She was like, okay.  Okay?  You fought me for ten minutes last time, Little Old Lady, and now you're saying okay after 30 seconds?  What the hell?

I guess you could say I was a little disappointed.

P.S. Quick Johanna story: Last night Eric told her to go straight into the shower, so she goes into the bathroom and turns on the water, and then is all, I'm going straight into the shower!  Fully dressed, mind you.  She thought that was ever so funny.  I was all (because with this kid, you never know how far she'll take it), uh, I'm pretty sure that's not what Daddy meant.  And she was all, he said go straight in!  He didn't say get undressed!

Ha ha ha.  Ah, seven-year-old wit.

Chevelle, Face to the Floor.  (I was going to link up a live version, but Abby was unimpressed.)  Anyway, this is sort of how I feel when little old ladies call: "Like your face getting forced to the floor."  And: "There's no better way to hash it out, so let's set up your time to bail."  Oh, Chevelle!  Have I mentioned how much I love this album?  P.S. Guitars solve EVERYTHING.