A trip to the mall

In case you have yet to note the crucial facts of the universe, I am Robert Robus, the world's most vaunted cybercomedian. Today I'm taking my sidekick, Tartar, to a local mall, where we shall browse merchandise, ingest low-caliber repast, and ogle dames. We are just now pulling into the parking lot--ferried always, of course, by our chauffeur par excellence, Rutland Orison.

Rutland, you can leave us here; we shall be ready to be picked up at eight, by which time we shall each have snagged a dame. Bring the finest of wine with you when you return, old chap: for we shall have laid the groundwork for an exceedingly voluptuous time by then, and would hate to be caught sans bubbly. --Very well, dear Rutland. Farewell.

Now, Tartar, where do you wish to go first? In this wing of the mall there is a Radio Flack, an Orange Foolius, and a Chicktoria's Secret. To which of these fine establishments do you desire to repair? --Why, Tartar, I must say! That was an exceedingly swift decision on your part, and--

Hello. Yes, I'm looking for a brassiere for a future girlfriend of mine. She is sweet, kind, solicitous, refined, prefers leather, and--What? You're asking me the size of her bustline? Why, what an impertinent question, you ill-mannered woman!

Tartar whispers something to Robus.

Oh! I beg your pardon, madam.

You see, I'm not quite sure at this juncture: for I've yet to determine certain details vis-à-vis my girlfriend, the greater part of which touch chiefly upon issues of, um, existence and identity. (Glances out shop window.) --But, my word! Perhaps those issues shall soon be resolved: for I, Robert Robus, have just caught sight of a shapely young dame. One moment, please.

Robus fleetly quits the establishment, approaches the dame in question, and utters an indeterminate phrase. The dame widens her eyes, lets out a shriek, and slaps Robert. Robert returns with a red handprint on his left cheek, and assumes a stately posture.

Friends, at this juncture I must assert that I know body language, and I know women. And, although it may not appear so to the untrained eye, this dame wants to date me--badly.

Now, the precise dimensions of this woman's bust become clear upon but a single glance; please ring me up twenty of your finest brassieres in that size. (My sweet darling, you and I shall spend a romantic evening together in my jacuzzi; we'll look deep into each other's eyes; we'll do things to which neither decorum nor late-night cable television permits even a reference.) Good friend Tartar, I hope you took note of my method of snagging dames: for otherwise it will surely prove of great difficulty to you to procure, as I have done, a suitable--

By this juncture, Tartar is out in front of Chicktoria's, where a drop-dead-gorgeous blonde is falling all over him. Robus takes in the situation with a quick glance and, collecting himself with stately dignity and assuming a prestigious countenance, turns to the clerk and asserts:

Everything that boy knows, he learned from I.