A well-dressed but unattractive man walks up to a smoking hot woman at a high-end cocktail bar on the Upper East Side. He says to her, “Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help but notice how attractive you were from across the room. I realize I may not exactly be your type, but I’m a, shall we say, well-to-do out-of-towner. And I was wondering if you would sleep with me for a million dollars.”
“A million dollars?” She gives him a once-over and blushes. “You bet I would, mister. Let’s do this thing. My place or yours?”
“My place will be fine,” the man replies. “I’m at the Motel 6 down the street. I have an inquiry, however, would you do it for fifty bucks?” Her radiant grin fades to an icy glare. She is ready to throw her drink in his face.
“Kind sir,” she says, playing along with the façade of formality, “are you out of your goddamned mind? The nerve you have coming up to me, trying to fuck me for fifty bucks. What kind of woman do you think I am?”
“Madam,” he says, “we’ve already established what kind of woman you are. Now, we’re just discussing price.”
