Jay and I had a hot date on Labor Day today. Ok, so it was more a trip to the grocery store, but we left the kids at home and I got to choose Target as the destination, so if you're a mom you know that is a frigate date! (Frigate is the new 'F' word. Even though it really IS a bird and not a swear word, it's such a cool word and such a cool bird that it deserves the rhyming I just did and it should be an honorary swear word. For those who are totally uneducated or just never watch Planet Earth, look up frigatebird and you, too, will be convinced to make it part of your vernaculum. Aw, shit. Umm...vernaculum. You know what? Frigate. Never mind.)
We're leaving Target and I see a most unattractive minivan. I used to own several in my pre-road bully days, but this particular one looked like it had a very fat ass if a minivan could have an ass. I said to Jay, "That looks like it's got a really fat ass on it." He gave me the "you're not using your inside voice" look, which was strange because we weren't inside, we were out in the damn parking lot, and I wasn't screaming so he should've been happy I wasn't using my inside voice anyway. Plus, I already KNEW the owner of the minivan was getting out of her car and I also knew she DID have a fat ass. But, as I carefully explained: 1. I didn't say it that loud; and 2. She probably already knows she has a fat ass. Hell, she probably BOUGHT that minivan hoping it would draw attention AWAY from her own fat ass. Course, when it came time to test this theory I chose not to and decided to walk really far away to put my cart away instead of to the closer cart corral where the fat ass was. She did have a baby in a carrier and for all I knew she might have been willing to swing that full on and knock me right on my small ass. I'm tough, but not stupid when it comes to laws of size and momentum. A fat ass person WOULD knock me over without even breaking a butt crack sweat.
We went through McDonald's drive thru to get my jug o'crack, which they require that I call "gallon of sweet tea" when I order so as not to destroy their squeaky clean image (they're still making up from that whole "Super Size Me" scandal). We always make fun of drive-thru workers here because frankly we speak English and they speak Jimmy Crack Corn. When we first moved to the South, I experienced many, many tearful and emotionally battering drive-through attempts to order some "Swayt tay" that usually went like this:
Me: Can I just get a large iced tea, please? (said in a really high little kid's voice, which I just learned from my sister I do whenever I get in front of a drive-thru window. I don't know why, maybe it's 'cuz I'm short.)
Charlie Brown's teacher: Wah wah wah wah wah.
Me: Excuse me?
Charlie Brown's teacher: Wah wah wah french fries wah wah.
Me: No, no french fries. I just need a large iced tea, please.
Charlie Brown's drunk teacher: Wah wah wah wah tay?
Me: {Really long pause.} I just don't know.
Charlie Brown's pissed off drunk teacher: Pull around please. (I ALWAYS undestand THAT one perfectly!)
Tea leaves are supposed to be healthy and beneficial with all those antioxidants, and I shouldn't have to be traumatized to get some.
Anyway, Jay ordered a gallon of sweet tea and a large sweet tea. There was a pause.
Me: You already effed up. They're gonna come back with, "Sir, we don't make large gallons of tea."
Jay: Yeah, "Um, sir? The gallon only comes in one size: a gallon."
Me: They're gonna get pissed at you. "Sir, I don't know where you're from, but this here's America and we ain't usin' that damn metric system!"
That, dear children, is why you need to stay in school and learn math.
Our Clown House is the ultimate in fancy - there are TWO drive throughs, side by side, and it's perfect for living in Nascar country to see everyone try and hurry with their order as fast as possible so they can gun it really fast because once you order, you have to quickly merge into 1 lane. Then there's a window that says, "Please have your money ready."
Me: What happens if you don't have your money ready?
Jay: You get sent back to the end of the line.
Me: Which line? How do they decide?
Jay: They don't. They make a third line. You have to go sit in the 'tard line. (See? We all use the word retard. If you're being offended right now, see this post for clarification about why I'm not going to hell.)
http://onceimelectedqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-youre-retard.html
Getting put in the time out line at McDonald's. Now THAT would be funny.
Queen of my own Magic Kingdom, full of all the irreverent, obnoxious, and sometimes offensive sarcasm you know and love. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care if you like my blog. Read, forward, repeat.
