I told you how my sister, Carla, and I are trying to learn street talk. Well, we had plenty of chances to practice it during the past few days while we were in Las Vegas. My husband, Larry, accompanied us, to bring mail money, he says.
First, Carla was mistaken as a lady of the evening. In her most tough, street talk fashion, she told the man who wanted to procure her services, "Bite me."
"Thanks. I think I will."
We quickly learned that "bite me" isn't the thing to say to a man who wants to hire you to fill his fantasies. (Unless, of course, you're into that kind of thing.)
Not to be outdone, I told the next man (he wanted Carla as well--go figure) but I claimed him as a conquest, "True dat." I don't know what he was saying, but I figured "True dat" works in just about every situation.
He flashed me a yellow-stained tooth grin. "True dat, yourself."
Gem for the day: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or, we hope so.