I was at a swanky Cuban restaurant yesterday. The rum was strong and the music sensual. I drank a mojito and sat down next to a woman at the bar who was also drinking a mojito. We compared mojitos. Hers was lower, so we got to talking.
She was a Republican Evangelical with six fingers (one is a nub), a shopololic, bad teethed and psychologically numb, a toenail-fungus-having turd-eating anorexic (when there are turds) who's had cosmetic surgery, and a gun enthusiast who made it plainly clear that she has no interest in me.
"Are we soulmates?" I asked her.
"How many mojitos have you had?" she asked.
"Just one," I said.
Apparently I had had a stroke earlier in the day.
I'm OK, though, and that's what's important.