So last night I met up with the usual suspects at Zuni in Greenbelt 5. Predictably, I ordered the Barbecued Baby Back Ribs for the main course and the Triple Chocolate Terrine for dessert.
“Bring us a pitcher of beer every seven minutes until someone passes out,” Iñigo
tells the waiter. “Then bring one every ten.”
We are discussing the merits of my chosen profession: ADVERTISING.
“Can you tell me what a woman’s body has to do with selling beer?” Daphne asks.
“All right, since men buy beer, advertisers have to cater to what we want,” I explain to Daphne. “And hold on to your corncob pipe—WE LIKE PRETTY WOMEN.”
“Pretty women sell beer,” Sid says. “Ugly women sell kitchenware.”
“Pretty women: Cars. Ugly women: Minivans,” Clyde says.
“Pretty women make us BUY beer and ugly women make us DRINK beer,” I say.
As if on cue, a Pretty Young Thing in a red bustier dress passes by our table. Predictably, Clyde, Sid and Iñigo turn to ogle her. It’s a guy thing. They can’t help themselves.
“It must be a drag to be a slave to the male sex drive,” Alyssa says dryly.
“It’s not just about sex,” I say.
“Oh, you want to start a book club with her?” Alyssa asks; brows arched.
“You know, people perceive you as somewhat...”
“Tempestuous?” Alyssa asks, cutting me off.
“‘Heinous Bitch’ is the term used most often,” I say.
Point, set, and match: Joey.
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