Coffee and Sherry

Coffee, it is evident, is not Sherry's cup of tea; She likes spirits like sherry and brandy and knows the ropes of winemaking to a tee; An oenologist by profession, like her pal Brandy, found her niche in viticulture. Numbers of spirits she's tasted, as a sommelier whose forté is wine tasting. Oddly enough, she will actually whine if I try to talk her out of dealing with other spirits. She's involved in paranormal practices and that chills me to the bone. She will lock up in her tiny cubicle for hours to "communicate with the beyond" and claims to have connected with certain famous individuals after their departures and says they are doing fine. At least she says my "poems" blow her socks off but I ought to massage her ducky feet so that she read my verse. If I don't, she socks me right in the gob! I feel I accomplish a feat without an oxygen mask. It's not easy to bear whatsoever the task of massaging her bare dogs though I'm glad I don't have to polish her toenails. She never paints 'em. Her Polish friend concurs that Sherry is a little cracked in the upper storey. Dating a 146 IQ girl isn't all it's cracked up to be. End of story. I'm wondering: If we were in the North Pole would she be barefoot so often? The Pole thinks so and misses the golden days when they both made money doing pole dancing. "Boy we would definitely daze the men at the club. They voted each night for the best dancer. Most times the polls, I have to admit, were in Sherry's favor. Jolly times. But don't you dare have the gall to say a word. She helps folks lose weight today and loves it. Be kind to my half-Gaul half-Brit friend and don't have her wait when she wants foot massage. You would be putting your foot in your mouth. Now go put your feet up." Well, knock on wood, the Pole's words made me feel lucky. Yo!