So I thought I would do my sisterly bit and look for jobs in Arizone-eye-ay for Coz.
I'm losing alot of my bolshevik tendancies as I get old, but I still feel it's a sad state of affairs when the phrase "$4.50 per hour" is so exciting you feel entitled to put an exclamation mark at the end of it.
And, who wants to eat somewhere called Granny's Closet? Granny's Kitchen, OK. But ... closet? A closet owned by a granny? Maybe you might find some boiled lollies in there.
This is the one I want her to get. Bartender on Route 66? Rock!