Cherry Picking, Bad; Cherry Popping, Good

“Hi! Quick question: what colognes do you all like to wear?” I paused to see if they understood English.

The old men threw up their arms as if I was napoming them. “Oh, I no wear. Don’t like.” Clearly the one on the left would be a tough nut to crack, but I might have a chance with the one on the right.

“What does the lady in your life think about that?” I prodded.

“We married 40 years.” He snapped.

“Well, then,” I said as I flipped my hair and reached for my bottle of (fake) Paris by Paris Hilton, “then isn’t in high time, you develop a new relationship with her? What if she smelled like this?” I whispered seductively as I pressed the merchandise into his hand and told him to inhale. “Sexy, isn’t it? You could have a totally new relationship with this.”

“Oh—oh,” he smiled seductively…… “It not fa huh, it fa my daughter.”

“How about a little something for each of them? This is a light and playful scent younger girls like,” I said as I pushed (fake) Fantasy by Britney towards his nostrils. “Or for something a little more sophisticated, you can never go wrong with Light Blue by Dolce & Gabanna. Which do you like best?”

He limply pointed towards the (fake) Dolce.

“You know this goes for anywhere from 60 to 90 in stores, but the company I work for puts its overstock out to the public for 60% off retail, so I can give you this huge bottle, for just 30.”

“Too expensive!” he screeched as if I poured acid on him.

“Come on now, she’s worth it, and you know it. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“Too much!” he wailed.

“Wow, you really drive a hard bargain….I’ll give it to you for 25.”

“No, don’t need it!”

I noticed Little Boss C approaching impatiently in the corner of my eye, miming as if she was rolling up a car window.

“But you WANT it.” I said “20, that’s my final offer.”

“OK!” he said, as he scurried to the register and pulled out a crisp clean $20 bill and pressed it into my hand.

Little Boss C struck up a conversation in Spanish as she entered, and he responded. She inquired about his ethnic background. “Filipino,” he said “but Muslim.”

Little Boss C and I discretely sashayed 20 feet away from the back door before she started jumping up and down and high fiving me. “You dropped your first bottle! I dropped one two! You know what this means? You popped your cherry!”

And so I had….and with an 80 year old Filipino Muslim man in a Janitor Supply place in Bellflower on a hot afternoon in the middle of Ramadan while his friend watched, no less. Well….all I can say is…..“Muslims have always brought me luck.”