Roger Abramson has summoned Sarcastro, me, and Coble to lunch today.
I can’t even imagine what horrors await me. Will they make me shoot a gun? Say grace? Say ma’am? And if I ain’t into that? I dread to think.
In honor of my conservative lunchmates, I will buy gas before I go and then spend the afternoon looking at maps of Nashville from the 1950s down at the State Archives. I will also practice clutching my pearls. I want them to feel comfortable around me, even though I am a great big scary liberal.
Tiny Cat Pants 
Maybe they needed a woman to serve the meal.Or did they ask you to cook?
Abramson, hurt feelings over here, my man, hurt feelings.
Are we to now understand that Roger is edified by you?Man, he invited my pantheon of bloggers. I wish I could eat the crumbs…
"Maybe they needed a woman to serve the meal.Or did they ask you to cook?"Ahem.
Sorry, Kat. My overwhelming desire to jab B hindered my reading comprehension.
Oh, Boy Scout. All this talk about you wanting to jab me is making me blush.
You all had lunch, yet I feel like chop liver.
Kleinheider, you know I still love you, even if I play around once in a while. I had no idea, for instance, that Sarcastro was such a ladies–er, I mean–man’s man. But I learned. Yes indeed, I learned.
RA, half the yakety-yak on this site is a testament to how women want to be with me and men want to be like me.
But the other half is not, Mr. Thorogood.
Yet, you felt it necessary to comment in order to get my attention.That’s so cute.
And you found it necessary to retort. Go figger.
See? You can’t stay away.I’m flattered.