My girl is red hot, your girl ain't doodly squat

Yesterday after work I met up with Michelle at the Hurricane to hash out what we were gonna do for dinner. It’s a habit of ours to do dinner together as often as we can, so it’s a given that if I’m hankering something I’ll call her to see if she’s hungry, and visa versa. Yesterday what I really wanted was some finger food, like hot wings or shit like that. And after some discussion we agreed on getting some stuff from this sports bar around the corner from the Hurricane. So I split to go get the food and she split to run an errand then meet me at my place. I went to the sports bar and told the cat behind the bar that I was here to pick up my call-in order. We had decided on a pound of hot wings, some tex-mex egg rolls, and lemon-garlic hummus with pita bread. A nice little spread to nosh on whilst watchin Deadwood on the TV. So after getting my order I headed home and shortly after Michelle showed up, and we started to dig in. But when we opened up the box holding the hot wings there were only five in the box.

"Dammit, this feel like a fuckin pound to you"?

The fuck? Goddammit, the muthafuckers had shortchanged us on the fuckin wings. After a short discussion with Michelle I called the place up and asked the cat that took my order how does five wings equate a pound? He fessed up to his mistake and told me that he’d take care of it and to either come on back by or he’d have it sent over? Michelle said if I’d drive she’d go in and pick the order up, so we hopped into the truck and drove on over where I parked on the street whilst she went in. I told her to talk to the black guy behind the bar cause he was the one that took my original order and to use my name. Once inside she walked up to the cat behind the bar and told him she was there to pick up the wing order for Greg. He said that it was all his fault and if I was pissed or anything like that, not that I look like the type. Michelle assured him that I was cool and he told her that it’d be a few more minutes before they were ready. He then asked Michelle where did we work at together cause he could have had it sent over.

(Michelle) “We don’t work together, the wings are for us”.
(Him) "You two don't work together"?
(Michelle) "No".

For a few seconds he just stared at her as she stared back, then he excused himself to run to the kitchen. He came back telling her that it would be a few minutes longer and would she like anything to drink on the house.

(Him) “So you two don’t work together?
(Michelle) “No, the wings are for us and I’m cool on the drink, thanks anyway”.

A short bit later he went to the kitchen and after handing Michelle the box of wings told her that there were three pounds in the box. She told me all this as we drove back to the house and after getting inside we both looked, and sure as shit there were enough wings in the box for a family of twelve. Somewhere in the cat’s head, between seeing me and seeing Michelle, and after doing the math and figuring out that not only did we not work together, but were together. He was all like “damn” and all fucked up with the dumbass. So it went from being a simple thing of handing over a mere half pound of wings to make shit right to coughing up three pounds. I told Michelle that trying to figure out the math of her being with me and me being with her fucked the cat up so bad that shit in the kitchen just escalated out of control. We get that a lot from people that don’t know us when they see us hanging out together.


gbeck@kc.rr.com says, "and the monkey flipped the switch"