I. to the jerk who was mean to morgan at cheerleading camp:
listen, kid. i don't know who you are and she won't tell me. but something happened in that gymnasium between 8 am and noon and i want to know what it was. she didn't speak the rest of the day but claimed nothing was wrong. which one of you stole her cheer? i know, of course, what the impetus was: you're all threatened by her outpouring of spirit. no six year-old has mastered the creepy smile, the rod-straight arms above the head in a V, the way my morgan has.
listen: i will mess you up. in case you didn't know this, kid, i lack the filter that makes adults sympathetic toward little people. man to man. and if you think for a second you can hide out the rest of this month in your carpool leader's highlander, you are sorely mistaken.
II. to the ford taurus with that damned bumper sticker, "i love my wife."
i don't believe you. seriously, guy, if you need an i-love-my-wife sticker...i'm convinced you're spending a great deal of time not loving her. and, i imagine, loving a great deal of graham evangelists instead. cancel the dinner reservations when she's tired. take the kids, for once, to chic-fil-a so she can, you know, breathe. SHOW DON'T TELL. or, OR, she's done this. SHE put the sticker on your ford. in which case: GET OUT. GET OUT NOW.
III. to my way2save account at wachovia.
i don't say this a lot, but: i love you. i love everything about you. i love that when my tab is $3.47 at starbucks, you charge me $4.47 and call it a day...thus shoving a WHOLE LIVE DOLLAR into my savings account. i have saved 24 dollars in ten days. it feels like playing the slots. i check that shit hourly. and, frankly, while i know this has to be some sort of bank scam: i don't know how to quit you.
IV. to table 24, last monday.
call off the wedding. seriously. when you sat down and ordered wine ("she'd love a glass with a bit of sweetness, and i'm down for a heavy cab") i fell in love. after all, you people were and are goodlooking. you were polite and funny and knew wine. i wanted to, you know, hang out at marble slab on our off day. but then, THEN, the weird stuff started to happen. you began fighting about the impending wedding. loudly. as in, "JEFF DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT IF HE SITS BESIDE BETSY AT THE REHEARSAL DINNER." and then crystal left the table THREE times. and you, guy, called for her to "sit the f down" while diners ate around you.
but that's not so weird. what's totally psychotic is when i approached (because I HAVE TO. i'm you're waitress) and said, "how are we doing over here," you guys said, in unison, without a trace of irony, "we're awesome. just relaxing. babe, you wanna stay for another glass?" "whatever you want, honey."
creepy. getouttathere. now.
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3 comments:
True. I don't care to sit next to Betsy, but that's only because we did it in the waiting limo at Mark and Joanna’s reception last month. What about inviting that Sybil chick? That could be fun.
Who dat who say who dat who say who dat?
I certainly didn't do anything of the sort with Jeff in any limo.
He just doesn't want to sit next to me because he was already drunk and I turned him down.
I have to admit it would be awkward.
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