“How was your date with the mermaid?”
“It was a full-scale disaster from beginning to end. She had anchovy breath, her dishpan hands went clear up to her shoulders, she had to be carried everywhere we went, and her dorsal fin was downright dangerous.”
Henry held up a bandaged finger.
Burt shook his head. “Rosalie works in an aquatic show on the Vegas strip and that’s a long, long way from the ocean. You know she’s not a real mermaid, don’t you?”
“Try telling her that. She showed up in full costume and stayed in character all night long.”
“So?”
“So, the only place we could get into was a topless bar. She drank like a fish, ran up a huge bar bill, and then she wouldn’t go back to my hotel room with me.”
“Why not? Did she say you weren’t her type?”
“No, she claimed to have a headache of Titanic proportions, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Why not?”
“She may have had a headache, but not for the reason she gave me.”
“Which was?”
“She told me she was doing a front crawl without paying attention to where she was going and accidentally collided with an iceberg.”
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