Working is hard because every time a cute boy comes in and orders a pizza or a sandwich or a calzone I fall in love with him. Tonight, what I would describe as a “deaf white gangster” came in and he was so cute and reading my lips and smiling and I love him.
But then there was a guy who came in tonight with his girlfriend, after coming in last Sunday with his wife and kids. I didn’t fall in love with him.
(I WASN’T GOING TO BRING THIS UP, BUT IT’S BEEN 24 HOURS AND I HAVEN’T LET IT GO YET SO I WILL.) WOULD ANY OF YOU EVER CRITICIZE SOMEONE FOR NOT WANTING TO PUT THEIR PURSE ON THE FLOOR OF A PUBLIC BATHROOM? I REALLY HOPE NOT.
I went out for dinner and drinks with some friends last night, and unfortunately for us it was open-mic night at the restaurant we chose. While we sat on the patio and ate our food we were serenaded by 13 year olds who were practicing for their turn on stage. They sang “I’m Yours” and “Wonderwall” over and over again, and all I could think was how much I hated them but also how much I envied them. I wish I was 13, and I hated being a person sitting at a restaurant drinking 2 dollar PBRs and wishing I was 13. But I realized that feeling is never going to end. It’s only going to get worse as I get older. Soon enough I’ll be wearing reading glasses, taking estrogen pills and wishing I was 13. And then I’ll be dead.
If a guy ever proclaims his love to me with a When Harry Met Sally type speech, I bet one of the things he’ll say is, “I love how I can always tell what you ate that day by what’s in your bra at night.”
Sitting on the couch eating grapes and thinking about when I was young and would practice eating grapes sexily so I’d be prepared for the day when I needed to seduce a hot black guy by eating grapes. That day has yet to come.