"Heh, heh, heh," he laughs, leaning against his new truck, a third family car, for recreational use, "Hell if I'll let my wife have a housekeeper. We don't have that kind of money!" He and his wife both have jobs, and maybe a kid or three.
"So, your husband tells me he bought you a new car!" Really? I don't recall consulting him or seeing him at any of the myriad dealerships I visited. Also? I don't even let him drive it, not because he is a man, but because he parks on curbs, and it'll mess up my tires.
"She's just not a nice girl" or, alternately, "She's a hell of a gal," with an old-fashioned, filthy leer. Because she, you know, may or may not have had sexual relations with another unattached consenting adult.
"We're having a bake sale. Can you bring something?" This question has been asked of my husband exactly never, as far as I know.
Versions of these
"Let's escort whore out the door," he says, in reference to Governor Haley.
"I don't use that word you people* are claiming that I used," Sheheen said. "I don't use it in private, and I don't use it in public, but if anybody heard wrong, and certainly my words were garbled, then you know I apologize because I don't want to send that message to anybody."