Squat Diddly

Y’all, I know that I said I wasn’t going to be snarky on Only The Good Friday, but sometimes I just can’t stand oozing goodness out of every pore for a whole day. This is one of those times!

Whatever happened to the days when the wait staff at a restaurant stood respectfully at the table to take your order? You remember, don’t you? Back in the old days, they called you “Sir” or Ma’am” instead of saying, “Hey, Guys.” I’m sure they think that their “friendliness” makes our dining experience seem more “intimate.” I beg to differ!

We went to eat at The Outback Steakhouse tonight and were served by a “healthy gal,” as my Mamaw would politely say. She had no reservations about butting into our conversation to ask if we needed anything. That in itself was annoying, but the stance she took as she served us was appalling!

She squatted down beside our table. Yes, I said “squat.” That’s an ugly word, isn’t it? And, it’s an ugly pose! Y’all, this was no ladylike squat, with her knees to the side, either! Her legs were spread wide, which is not a lovely pose for a slim person. In skin tight khakis, every inch of her (ahem) “anatomy” was clearly defined! Do I need to draw y’all a picture here?

Believe me, I don’t want to get that intimate with the wait staff! Your darned tootin’, “‘TAIN’T” a pretty sight while you are eating! Or, any other time for that matter! Gag me!

Along about the third time she did it, I’d had quite enough. I couldn’t help myself, so don’t y’all go blaming me for my actions. When she squatted down, I put on a horrified expression (actually, it wasn’t “put on,” because I was horrified). I stared at her crotch for about five beats and then looked her square in the eye for three more beats before I opened my mouth to speak.

I didn’t have to reprimand her, because my face spoke volumes!

Funny thing — she didn’t squat any more at our table. She stood respectfully beside us when she addressed us!

When it came time to pay the tab, my husband and I discussed her tip. Normally we tip 20%, but we were thinking about giving her “squat.” In the end, we left her a decent tip. But, the tip I’d really like to give her is this:

“You are my server! NOT my BFF! Act like it!”

The Party’s Not Over

We decided to skip Halloween.

But, we still have a party tonight. The season feels strange, because this is the first year in thirty or so that I haven’t gone overboard decorating the house. Yes, I missed putting out all my Halloween spooky stuff — but I don’t miss having to put it all away today!

I know we seem like party poopers to not celebrate the season … but our boys are grown and there are no grandbabies to spoil. The past few years, we have only had one or two groups of Trick or Treaters. I buy ten pounds of candy in expectation and then wind up gaining fifteen pounds sucking down all the leftovers. This year, we decided to just keep the lights out and forget about it.

Feeling guilty about trying to hide from the little urchins in the back of the house, we decided to have a night out. We went to see The Changeling, starring Angelina Jolie’s lips. I kid you not, seeing those lips ten feet tall and painted bright red was disturbing. But, nothing compared to the movie content. I’d like to force that woman I encountered in Houston, who left her kid in the car, to sit and watch it …three times.

We were emotionally exhausted when we got out of that theater, but it was still too early to risk coming back to the house. No telling what those little kids might do to us in the way of a trick if we didn’t have candy for them.

We went to the mall because I wanted to get some embellishments for the costume I plan to wear to a Halloween party tonight. At least we are celebrating at a party and get to play “dress up.”

I went to a likely store, and told the young gal who waited on me that I wanted tattoos so I could look like Keith Richards. She said, “Keith Who?” I stared at her dumbfounded and in a mock stage whisper said, “You don’t know who Keith Richards is?” She replied, “Is that a bad thing?” I answered, “No, just a sad thing.”

Traipsing through the mall we still got the enjoyment of seeing kids in costume, but we didn’t have to give them any candy. Little kiddos and teenagers were going from store to store in disguise to hit up the merchants for treats.

I saw one adorable little girl in a perfect princess costume, but I felt so sorry for her! She wasn’t going to get much attention, because her Momma was costumed as well. Momma was dressed as a bumblebee. A scantily clad bumblebee! She looked like she was out for some serious “pollinating.” The child might have been interested in “treats,” but Momma looked more interested in “tricks.” What was she thinking?

Failing in my attempt to find tattoos, I bought a pirate shirt instead, and I’m ready to go out tonight to celebrate.


Ask A Silly Question, Get A Silly Answer

Your hair color is so BEAUTIFUL,” the twenty-something receptionist at the beauty parlor gushed. “Is that your REAL hair?”

Now, I ask y’all: what was I supposed to do with a question like that?

I’m a “woman of a certain age,” I had just come out of a beauty shop, my hair was sopping wet, and I DO NOT have a single gray hair on my head. I would have thought that such a question was totally unnecessary. You show me a woman my age who doesn’t have a single gray hair, and I bet she is as bald as a cue ball.

People, everyone should know that an older woman colors her hair because she doesn’t want YOU to know she has any gray–she wants to look younger. Let her delude herself!

No one would ask a woman if those were her “real boobs,” would they? Wait! Come to think of it, some folks might.

Have y’all noticed that people seem to have no qualms about asking invasive questions these days? I’m curious about “why” they think they can get away with it. Didn’t their Mommas teach them any different? Do they think that by prefacing a query like that with a compliment they can negate the downright rudeness of the question? Do they not think before they speak? Or, do they just not have the common sense God gave a goose?

There are some questions that everybody should know never to ask a woman who is a stranger to you:

  • Don’t ask a woman her age.
  • Don’t ask about her “real” hair color.
  • Don’t ask if she has had any cosmetic work done.
  • And, NEVER (under any circumstances) ask “when is your baby due” unless the woman has specifically told you she is expecting one!

What do you do when someone asks a question that you consider rude? Are you prepared with a “standard answer” or do you just get flustered?

Me? Sometimes I answer a question with a question. I smile sweetly, put on my most sugar coated Southern drawl, and ask, “Why would anyone as smart as you ask a rude question like that?”

Other times, I remind myself of my cat playing with one of those little salamanders that get in my house. Y’all have seen how a cat “plays” with a living critter, haven’t you? The cat bats at it and nips at it until it won’t move anymore. Then, the game is no fun and the cat moves on to other mischief, leaving their former “toy” helplessly struggling on the floor. My cats are never merciful enough to just put it out of its misery.

I don’t swat people with my paws, but I play verbal games with them until their mouths stop moving and they aren’t fun anymore. That’s what I did on the day I’m telling you about. I bet some of y’all knew I was going to finish that story I started.

I looked that little gal in the beauty parlor right in the eye, and shook my wet mane of hair. I grabbed a hank of it and gave it a tug. I wanted her to know I wasn’t yet senile enough to wear a wet wig. I answered the question she asked.

“Yes, it’s my real hair.”

Is it really red?” she chirped.

At this point, I could not tell if the girl had caught on to the fact that I was “playing” with her, or if she really believed me. Glancing at my hair, I answered, “Your eyes do not deceive you. That color is really red.”

Wow,” she said. “I can’t believe that’s your natural hair color. It looks so GOOD on you.

What the heck did she mean by that? Was that some kind of veiled insult? I studied my “prey” for a moment. Sitting there popping her chewing gum, that little gal had the vapid expression of a cow chewing a cud.

I decided she didn’t have the brain to insult me. In fact, I figured that if doctors took an x-ray scan of that little gal’s head, all they would find in her brain cavity would be a couple of Q-tips she had used to clean her ears (that had fallen into the void).

I smiled at her through gritted teeth and said, “This is the hair color God gave me.”

I wish God had given ME that color,” she said. Her eyes were as big around as dinner plates … she believed me! I couldn’t stand to lie to her. She wasn’t much fun; it’s never exciting to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person. Besides, I had other mischief to find.

As I turned to leave, I put her out of her misery. I called over my shoulder, “Yes, this IS the color God gave me. He put it in a TUBE. If you have a solid base of white hair, God will give you this color, too.”