"Napalese" is NOT a naughty word

"You'll never guess what I did," I said excitedly while Geri dealt the next hand of cards for our customary Wednesday euchre match. When it became uncomfortably clear that no one cared what miraculous feat I had accomplished, my friend Rachel finally took some pity on me. "What did you do, Amy," she asked in the soft voice reserved for growling dogs and simpletons. "I went to the mall yesterday," I boasted, "and I got a discount!" There. Finally. The reaction that I expected. Stunned silence and stares. "Oooo...you got a discount at the mall," Geri gushed, "You really need to get out of the house more." I couldn't understand the sarcasm at first. "No, no no...not like a sale discount," I sought to clarify, "I bargained with a guy selling Nepalese knit-wear." I'd come a long way from kicking tires at a used car lot. My friend Deb used to haggle for chickens in Sierra Leone and apparently the secret to bargaining is being able to walk away without your feathered friend. Well, I didn't want to walk away without my chicken but I sauntered up to the kiosk with casual indifference.

              ("Which resembled chronic indigestion," Brad added.

              "Hey! I saved us money," I protested, "Why don't you try supporting me in this little                      story?"

              "Don't get me wrong," my husband reassured me, "I appreciate the three dollar savings                   but you just ended up spending it on a celebratory McDonald's double hot-fudge sundae                 less than an hour later."

              "Just let me tell the story, would ya?" I snapped.)

I fingered the Nepalese knit-wear indifferently, staring off into space as though my mind were filled with a thousand more important thoughts ("Like an impending gas bubble," Brad interjected.). The salesmen glanced up fearfully from his phone and contemplated getting up off his stool to approach me. Who was the predator and who was the prey? He stifled a yawn before asking, "Did you want one?" Not a fan of the hard-sell approach, I danced away skittishly to consult with my partner. "Get one if you want," Brad had shrugged before throwing me back into the ring. I smiled beguilingly at the salesman who was trying to act as though he was utterly bored ("Kind of like us," Geri observed, as my card-playing pals continued to be held captive by my amazing story.). "Do you offer a discount if someone buys more than one," I asked assertively ("What, exactly, is your definition of assertive," Brad commented.). "Yeah, sure, whatever," the guy shrugged, clearly beaten down in this battle of wits. I beamed ungraciously, clutching my bag filled with Nepalese knit-wear. "On this day, my friends," I proudly proclaimed, victoriously slamming down a black Jack on the card pile, "Amy Mosiman was NOT willing to walk away without her chicken!" "That's great, Amy," Rachel said in her soothing voice as she pulled the pile of cards in,

My niece, Alea, sporting her discount Nepalese knit-wear chicken!
 Bonus:  there was an interior pouch for her cellphone!

"What a nice story. But trump is diamonds."