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"Thank you for calling Miss. Matchmate, how may I help you?" a sweet voice inquired.

Damn, wrong number. Instead of Andrew's Auto, I'd reached a warehouse for re-cycled romances.

"This is Miss. Matchmate. How may I assist you?" the woman repeated.

"I need a new set of tires." I said.

"We’re a matchmaking service, we'll help you find a match," she explained.

"Good. My tires gotta be compatible; they must match," I said.

"You’ve reached the Miss Match matchmaking service. How may I assist?" asked the annoyed operator.

"Got any blonds with extra tires?"

The humming dial tone replied.

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