fh and i took z to vera’s burgers for dinner last night cuz he wanted a huge patty of beef and she was cool with some chicken strips after eating carrots all the way there and while running errands.
if you’ve ever gone there you know three things: the door is always left open, they take forever while the smell of the burgers cooking makes you go from slightly hungry to i-will-kill-you-for-those-onion-rings famished and well, some of the clientel is a bit short of manners.
so we’re waiting for our order and these two chicks come in that are just reeking nouveau prostitute, as in, “i look this good and that’s all i do because i’m nailable if your bankroll is fat enough.” and these girls are oohing and awing over my z cuz, well, she is gorgeous. and they bust out a, “she looks just like you!” followed closely with, “oh my god, she’s so adorable she makes me love babies.”
ahem. yes, my daughter should be the inspiration for bestowing plastic people upon the world (snob moment over, i swear*).
and i go, “well that’s her daddy over there, so she’s actually a cross between the two of us.” cuz it’s true, but also, what, i am adorable and look like a 14 month old? and they turn and point to fh and say with disdain
“oh, that’s the daddy? no, she’s exactly you.”
some guy standing beside fh was like, “holy shit. that’s ridiculous.”
um, yeah. thanks, bimbos. but fh is my interpretation of the perfect mix of slacker-angry-skater angst and y’all can go back to your Gs, kay? god knows i wouldn’t want him getting herpes anyways.
* k, i lied. it’s never over.
