 |
Endorsements |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
"You really are clueless, an embarrassment to the name. Hope you're adopted." -- June Dever
"this guy is right about conserving a clue. he hasn't one and that leaves more for the rest of us." -- Jim Lovell
"Your e-mail addy... should be 'dever@getalife.net.'" -- Sponge
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
 |
 |
 |
| |
|
|
|
| Never Eat at a Place Called "Mom's" |
| Posted by: dever on Monday, June 12, 2006 - 04:50 PM |
I stopped in at a local Deli today to enjoy a Ruben and a couple minutes of quiet time before heading out and running my day-off-errands. I check out my waitress - 25, brown hair, brown eyes, very cute - the kind of she's-fun-but-you-can-still-take-this-girl-home-to-mom kind of look. A lot of my "downtown" friends ask why I've moved out to the southwest suburbs and live out in "the boonies." Honestly? These hot Italian girls like I just described are EVERYWHERE. Ok, so that wasn't the initial draw but it's definitely a perk and I'll admit a weakness for attractive brunettes. The lesson is: if you want to see pretty girls every day, move to a community where the majority of the businesses are involved with concrete.
But none of that had anything to do with what I wanted to share.
As I'm sitting my meal a young couple walks in. You know the type - they're both pretty homely and neither knows how to dress and somehow they're perfect for each other in their own unkempt kind-of-way. It's the "lid for every pot" concept. (Now, I realize I'm not going to be gracing the cover of GQ magazine in my lifetime, but I refuse to accept that I've fallen that far down the scary looking people totem-poll. Although, judging by recent pictures, I could be deluding myself.) As he sits down with his back to me, I already feel like I know too much about this guy.
Uncle Dever's Fashion Tip For Men #1: Don't wear tighty-whities.
Uncle Dever's Fashion Tip For Men #2: If you must wear them, for the love of God, don't let the waistband ride above the waist of your jeans so everyone know you're violating my first tip. Pull up your pants, tuck in your shirt, freeball... whatever it takes.
Anyways, tightly-whitey boy and acne-girl are apparently moving in together - ah, young love - but first, there's the ever important conversation about everything you own that she doesn't like.
"We are not getting rid of the china cabinet. I paid like $1000 for that. I'd rather we just throw out your entertainment center first..."
"Where do you think you're going to put your stupid workbench?"
"Will there be room for both refrigerators? Because I'm definitely keeping my fridge."
I'm starting to feel bad for this guy. The entertainment center AND the workbench? Why doesn't she just take that butter knife off the table and start sawing away his testicles right now? He tries to reason with her some more, but it isn't going anywhere. This conversation has turned in to a disaster. I think of Stephen Whitty reviewing Gigli, "Such an utter wreck... you expect to see it lying on its side somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, with a small gang of engineers circling and a wisp of smoke rising from the caboose."
I almost want to jump in and assist the defense, but really - it's not my problem. Just another reminder of why I like living alone.
|
 |
| 103 Comments
|
| Never Eat at a Place Called "Mom's" | Log-in or register a new user account | Comments |
|
| Comments are statements made by the person that posted them.
They do not necessarily represent the opinions of the site editor. |
|
|
|
| |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
Printer Friendly Page | Register | Log in 
