Today I am off, so Hotter and I took my cash tips for the week to the feed store to get chicken feed (finally) and a bale of compressed alfalfa for the bunnies.
The total was thirty-two dollars and change, and I pulled a wad of singles out of my purse and counted out thirty-three of them. The teenaged cashier raised an eyebrow.
"Waitress, not stripper!" I clarified, because I've gotten that look before (and even had a skeevy dude behind me in line at the grocery store be so bold as to ask me where I dance after seeing my currency--that was...interesting). The cashier burst out laughing, and told me I'd made his day. "Waitress, not stripper, haaaa," he repeated, laughing.
Hotter merely pointed out that I'd made myself look guilty.