Today was a good day.
No, I didn’t get nominated for an Oscar. Didn’t even get to blow on my knuckles like my buddy Mitt Romney did after revealing his recent tax records.
But you know, me and Mitt, we’re just alike: We don’t care about all that big money stuff. We’re just working stiffs figuring out ways not to get taken down by The Man.
At least that’s what I figured when Mitt and I were driving down Manchester Street in Concord today. And what a morning it was: warm and foggy to start and a little slick on the roads, but it was Mitt’s day to drive so I didn’t really care.
Mitt had already called and said he’s forgotten that it was trash day and that he still needed to haul a couple of LazyBoys out of the basement and get them curbside.
“Make sure you grab me a medium at Dunkies,” I told him. “And don’t cheap out this time and go to Cumberland Farms.”
Twenty minutes later here comes Mitt screaming up the driveway. “We good?” I say to Mitt. “Way good.” he said, sliding on a pair of shades he bought at Mobil On The Run. “Let’s dominate this day.”
See, this is what I love about Mitt. He’s always ready to make this whole Main Street life of ours work. When I’m down, he’s up. When I’m up, he’s up. We endure this wicked world together.
See, Mitt’s encouragement may sound like damnation to some, but to me, it’s pure genius. Mitt knows what I need, what you need, because he’s walked in our shoes, and I in his.
“I gotta get an oil change,” Mitt suddenly blurts out. “I think Banks Chevrolet charges only $20 for an oil change and tire rotation. They might even vac it out, too.”
I turn to him, “You’re good, Mittney, but you ain’t that good.”
Of course, Mitt is right. He not only scores an oil change, tire rotation, wash and vac for $20, but Mitt gets someone to lead us into “The Palace of All Waiting Rooms” where they serve up free coffee and free Internet.
We left Banks and went to Subway to dominate a couple of $5 foot-longs. We both were feeling pretty good about the day, pretty dominant. Mitt decided he’d skip the gym later (having already hauled them LazyBoy chairs) and hit the mall before it gets too slammed and buy some sneakers and pleated jeans.
"Well, it’s been a great day, Willard." I said to Mitt. "Will I see you at men’s hoop tomorrow night? Gonna need some scoring out of you. We’re playing them wankers from Salem again.”
Mitt shot a hard glance at me as he dropped his shades down on the bridge of his nose and said, “I’ll dominate that court, my fellow Main Streeter. And don’t ever call me Willard again.”
That man does not exist.