My beautiful and precious laptop has been broken for almost forty-eight hours and J has yet to fix it and yet he still thinks he lives in this house. I am not sure what he thinks his job is here but it definitely includes laptop repairs and doing whatever the hell it is I am demanding right now!
Faster than that tool.
I found myself in a rather uncomfortable position today at the Rack (trying to buy jeans for J who is not wearing my pants today--I do not think--but has mysteriously lost his pants even though he swears he only takes them off at home). I was rooting through the piles of designer ones (Sevens for fifty bucks! AG for seventy! Mavi for twenty!) and this man asks me if the brand he is holding (Lucky) is "hot." Er no.
He says that he has been told that he needs jeans that are a hot brand and do I know anything about that. WHY YES I DO! So I pull out a bunch of different styles and point him in the right direction in a way that I assure you was not flirtatious or anything but polite and possibly friendly. Because while I come off as a royal bitch here and often to my friends and loved ones to the general public I am generally a lovely person because I was not raised to act like an animal. And I have a very "friendly face" which is code speak--you have a generic face in which I see my third grade teacher/best friend from college/favorite niece/favorite barista . . . Anyway, occasionally in public people forget that they do not actually know me and things get odd fast. This has lead to many fun and interesting things (as well as new friends) and to uncomfortable situations that make me wish I carried a large knife in my even larger handbag.
So this man is babbling about how he will not wear tight jeans (even though that is the entire point of designer jeans I mean not glued on but if you want saggy baggy shit go to Old Navy because it all looks the same) and I am to that stage where I am smiling and nodding but I have to find J some jeans that he will actually wear and not consider too gay (which well we'll see what he says but GOD he is picky) and then I want to go look for picture frames marked down to nothing and get some chicken McNuggets on my way back to work.
In other words, I have things to do and they do not include caring about this guys pants. So he says (holding a pair of Sevens), "so if I get these, then I will be hot right?"
Well I guess so and I will committ enough to that to nod (but I only sort of mean it because GOD wacko) and he was like OH YOU BROKE MY HEART BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT I WAS ALREADY HOT.
And then he follows me around the store for fifteen minutes asking me weird questions which means I cannot go to the lingerie section because I am not talking to this schmuck about my cup size I do not care about being polite.
I did get my chicken nuggets so it wasn't a total loss.
But my GOD, I swear, I do not offer little tidbits of wit or wisdom to these people. And yet last week it was that weird guy at Costco and TERRY on the bus who told me all about how he left his bike on the southbound bus this morning and now he does not know where it is and before that was this woman at Victoria's Secret who was asking me about did men really like thongs and what if your butt was long and should she get a Brazillian. And that old guy on the train a couple of weeks ago that was very concerned that my pants were too long but DUDE NO YOUR'S ARE TOO SHORT BUT I AM NOT A RUDE ENOUGH BITCH TO MENTION THAT SO WHY DON'T YOU GET OUT OF ME AND MY PANTS' GRILL mmmmmkay?
Perhaps the moral of the story is I need to stop just acting like a bitch to my husband and spread it around? Not that way EW.
1 comment:
These are just the sort of things you have to put up with, Anyabeth, when you're the "hot" girl.
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