Can't... talk...

Yesterday was apparently one of my stupidest days on record.

In addition to the boxer thing, I also had a stupid run-in at the bagel store.

I have been slowly befriending Effie and Mo, these two nice chaps from Iran and Israel, respectively, who run the bagel purveyor near my workplace. I hit them up for bagels 2-4 times a week, always accompanied by some kickass small talk.

But every now and then, I slip into good ol' Jeff-like awkardness, especially when I have to leave. I am often prone to saying "Take care" or "Have a good one!" when concluding one of these gabfests, but yesterday, everything got muddled. I exited the bagel shop, paper bag in hand, and realized that I wasn't actually sure what came out of my mouth when I was awkwardly saying goodbye to Mo. On the walk back to my studio, I determined that I may have accidentally scrambled "Take care" and "Have a good one!" Result? I actually told Mo to "Take a good one."

What's he going to think? Did I just bizarrely hit on a 60-year-old mustachioed Israeli man? That wouldn't be terrific at all. Even worse, I'm worried that Mo, as a non-native English speaker, will incorporate my unfortunate word-mangling into his casual phrasebook, and start telling other people to take good ones. Which could be detrimental to his bagel business. After all, if I was walking out of a bagel shop and the shopkeeper yelled after me, "Take a good one!" I'd probably never go back there.

What do I know? Should I never go back there for fear of further undermining Mo's colloquial vocabulary? Should I kill Mo? Blog, I turn to you for advice, or at least a comforting electronic shoulder on which I may weep.