Life is hell
I need a receipt,
the customer said.
You need a receipt
for a single order
of General Tso's chicken?
I asked.
My wife is an accountant,
he said. My life is hell!
You see that extra ten cents?
I pointed at the register tape.
That's the one-percent for green space,
just in case she asks.
That's alright, he said,
as long as I have a receipt.
I could smell the booze.
Everybody thinks their life is hell.
And maybe it is.
But I live with two Chinese women,
each of whom thinks
she knows what's best for me.
If you'd ever lived
with just one Chinese woman
you would marvel
at my dilemma.
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