I give my car to a guy in front of a restaurant because he's got a short red jacket.----"I guess he's the valet guy." I don't even think about it. But for my hideous, putrefied gym clothes I got one of these locks, you can put a bullet through it and it won't open.
That stuff is safe."
Do something good----hard work, exercise----smell very bad. You move, you stink.
Why don't our bodies help us? Why can't sweat smell good? Be a different world, wouldn't it. Instead of putting your laundry in a hamper, you'd put it in a vase. Go down to the drugstore, pick up some odorant and perspirant. You'd have a dirty sock hanging from the rearview mirror of your car.
And on a really special night, maybe a little underwear coming out of your breast pocket, just to show her she's special."
But the parakeet would fall for this. I let him out of his cage, he'd fly around the room and, BANG! With his little head right into the mirror. They have no helmets, no pretection when they fly. Just that straight-back hair-do. And I'd always think, "Even if he thinks the mirror is another room, why doesn't he try to avoid hitting the other parakeet."
