Auntie Miltie

Customer: “Hello! Do you have a black. Leather. Harness?”

Me: “We… have a number of them. Do you have a particular style in mind?”

Customer: “I want something that says, ‘I’m not a slut, but I want to get laid.'”

Customer’s Husband: “What?!”

Customer: “Pay him no mind. I’ve got his credit card.”

Customer’s Husband: “You know, I took him for better or worse, but he’s worse than I took him for!”

Me: “Ha ha…”

Customer’s Husband: “It’s been a business doing pleasure with you!”

[Inner Me: Oh, God. I’m trapped in hell with Milton Berle.]

Customer: [gesturing to the coat rack behind the counter] “Oooh, I like that leather jacket.”

Me: “Oh, that? That’s actually mine.”

Customer’s Husband: “Is that leather skirt yours too?”

Me: “The kilt? No, the kilt is not mine.”

Customer’s Husband: [suddenly adamant] “It’s a skirt.”

Me: “No, really. It’s a kilt.” [I take the kilt off the rack and hold it up for authentication.] “See?”

Customer’s Husband: [grumbling] “Yeah, well… business doing pleasure with you.”

His aversion to unbifurcated clothing is fishy. I’m starting to suspect he’s not the real Milton Berle.

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