21 May 2008

Cally? Cassie?

Stopped in at Star$$$ this morning. I had a hankering for an iced black eye to quench my fierce thirst. A thirst what can make a man do terrible things. Things like talking like Mal Reynolds. The closest shop (well second closest, but this one's on my way) is at Kierland Commons. That'll mean nothing to those outside the Valley of the Sun, but folks around here might recognize it as one of the most chi-chi spots in all of Scottsdale, which is a little like being the tallest guy in the NBA.

So I'm waiting - enjoying the bevy of beauties on display - and three young blonde girls come in. They're around 18 or 19 years old and quite cute. Up to the register they go where they start chatting with the guy working the register who asks, "Where's my girlfriend today?"

"Cally?" answers one of the perky possee.

"The one with the...", he trails off while gesturing with his hands to indicate her long, golden tresses.

"Cassie? No. Cally?"

I turn to a guy behind me who's also been following this conversation from afar (the smirk on his face is the tipoff) and say, "Maybe it's Cammy?"

My order ready, I grab and go with a smile on my face. And then it hits me. All these blondes have similar names. I mean, really similar. That's not funny at all.

I'm a Jew. There's nothing funny about blondes with similar names. That's *scary*.