Daily Archives: June 14, 2006

Just when DH turns nice and sweety-pie

I wrote a ton today and dh decided to take me to dinner to celebrate. It was that or bologna, but I didn’t warn him. He suggested out to eat all on his own. He is soooo smart sometimes. Of course he’s still in the doghouse over the “you’re just like your mother” comment…anyway.
So out to eat we went.
I should’ve got a margarita or ten, but I didn’t. I settled for iced tea.
First sign we should’ve left: the obnoxious group sitting next to us with the precious little girl who spelled F-U** a couple times then said, “Mom, when you get married the third time, can we get a new kitchen?” And since the man Mom was marrying spent much time moo-ing (yes, as in COW-speak for I am an idiot), I figure that precious darling bit of “FU” sunshine will get that kitchen in no time.
Second sign: Burned chips. Burned tortilla chips are nasty, and you can’t always tell they’re burned…until you taste them.
Third Sign: The waiter dropped a tray of water on the perfectly nice guy sitting behind Mr. Moo. Seriously, the guy was just sitting there, minding his own business, drinking a margarita, and wham, ice water everywhere!
Fourth Sign: A group of four young men came in half way through and sat behind us, looked up, saw Mr. Moo and said, “Hey Coach!” Followed by a long, loud discussion on why one of them had a wife, a pregnant wife, a pregnant wife who would have a boy because a girl baby would suck (yes, he SAID that!), but if sucky girl did happen to be born, she would, of course, be an All-Star. All star what? I wanted to ask, I really did. Somehow I refrained. Even though they were talking loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.
Fifth sign: Restaurant has added fabulous new menu item: homemade tortillas. I should’ve known better. I mean, hel-lo, the chips were burned. But no. We got fajitas. The homemade tortillas were doughy. I’ve never had doughy tortillas before today. Please, God, don’t ever let me have them again.
Sixth Sign: (YES, we were STILL there) Four boys who knew Mr. Moo as “Hey Coach” begin loud burping contest. At least one of these young men is procreating, possibly with All-Star sucky girl as future offspring.
Seventh Sign: Mr. Moo and family leave, but not before tiny Mr. Moo baby (a boy, of course. His wife would never dare to bring a sucky girl into the universe) began crying. Loud, ear splitting, sad cries. I’m just taking a chance here, but the cries might have meant, “My Daddy Moos in public places, get me out of here.”
We brought most of the food home. DD ( a very non-sucky, non all-star, perfectly snarky teenage GIRL) enjoyed it immensely, despite the 2-point Mav loss.
If I’d had the margaritas, all this would’ve been immensely funny instead of irritating beyond belief. Next time, I’m drinking!