The driving route to our favourite asian grocer is full of gems. Like the home that would put the greek house in My Big Fat Greek Wedding to shame. The pie shop (which I'm just noting because it has GREAT pie and I dig pie). The chain hotel with the windows that are covered over by mattresses. You know, fun stuff. But the trophy store always catches my eye. And not because I'm attracted to shiny things. I mean, I am. I also have a plan.

"B, we should totally go in and buy you one. Like a giant 6 foot tall one and have it engraved with something like "Indianapolis 500 Champion", and then when people dispute its origins you can be all 'Uh, its not like you can just go somewhere and get them made'."

"But you can."

"But no one would believe you'd pay hundreds of dollars for a mediocre replica. You would have logic on your side!"

"I don't see the point in the elaborate ruse."

"You have no vision. Imagine the awe of bringing your boss home to see your engraved silver Wimbledon platter and no real way for him to call you out on it without questioning your entire moral code, thereby making HIM the asshole."


"You're welcome."

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