Mexico is nice this time of year. That’s why the G20 Group held their Ministers of Foreign Affairs in Los Cabos. The Mexican Mafia were all drunk or hungover and couldn’t make it despite their last minute threats. One of my aids told me they got lost below deck trying to rob a cruise ship.
The memo from G20 said we’d have a group picture taking session right after lunch. So, I grabbed a quick nap in my hotel room and when the time came to take photos, I was still drowsy from the wine and headed to the conference hall in my pajamas.
My hair was a mess. Makeup was a mess. And those green split pea soup pajamas that Bill gave me looked a little out of place. How was I supposed to know that everyone wears white in Mexico?
Dress code? I don’t need no stinkin’ dress code! I make the rules, Peter Gunn be damned. He once said, “Why must she dress that way? I think she’s confused about her gender. All these big, baggy menswear tailored pantsuits? I’m really serious.”
Yeah, Peter. Sure. Uh huh. Hey, aren’t you the guy who tried to commit suicide over your choice of clothing?
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