The last thing my poor loved ones will want is to be surrounded by is a family of foul and boorish morticians during their time of immense grief.
Okay.
I believe this photo establishes My Man as a handsome feller. Yes. There.
Now. Despite this highly relevant fact, and his talent as a bar/restaurant manager & bartender, his near 15 years of experience in the industry, and his skill and personality - his sometimes unfortunate work ethic will cause a dedication and loyalty that is totally undeserved by a dreadful establishment.
And now that Chris has left such a place, I feel that I can safely mock it. There is an enterprise which shall remain unnamed, which will surely go under soon, especially now that Chris has left it (as the only reliable and talented member of the skeletal staff). It has been run by two of the most incompetent and arrogant blowhards I've ever come accross. It would be funny if it hadn't so affected our ability to pay the bills, and allow my feet to fester after months without pedicures. The horror!
One owner deemed himself an artist and exploited the venue as a gallery for his paint-by-number, traced paintings of famous people. At first I couldn't decide if it was kitschy and funky, in that so-bad-it's-good way, but then I decided it was just plain tacky, especially in the super-upscale district this club lies in, surrounded by expensive boutiques and old money, and very little appreciation for garishness. I had to laugh every time I went in to flirt with Chris, because I kept noticing new paintings that were apparently completed overnight. You know, because great art is instantaneous.
Really? The Stoodges and Cosby? How about the Wall O' Elvi?
This is Dad. He was a sailor. I don't even need a joke here.