Keepin’ it classy
Today I turned 18. As per tradition, my family took me out to dinner, and I chose Mimi’s cafe. Only a few tables were taken, mostly by elderly couples, but they sat us in the “kid section” because my little brother and his friend were with us (clearly they were misinformed about which birthday this was). The atmosphere was hushed - the dimly lights and soft booths seemed to cushion the quiet conversations the scattered diners were having. Secretly I was hoping that the lady who I had interviewed with for a job here would come out and see that I’m a regular. She didn’t. My dad embarrassingly introduced me to the server as “the birthday girl” and we ordered a round of strawberry lemonades to begin with.
“Do you want to know how much of a prude my mother is?”
No, but I do now. I looked up from the menu to see a couple in their late forties, early fifties, wrinkled from smoking. The woman leaned intently towards the mustached man. I waited for her to explain, but the waiter interrupted my eavesdropping.
“Corn chowder please,” I smiled. Now back to the action.
I watched as Her Drunkness made clear attempts at flirtation, touching the indifferent man emphatically to emphasize her ramblings. “I’m telling you,” Lady Liquor slurred, “I love my mother. I mean, I love my mother…”
Body position: Duchess Drunk: / . Reluctant date: / .
Waiter again: “Oh thanks, yeah I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo with chicken. Thank you.”
Back to the classy couple across from us. If you’ve never seen a cougar on the prowl, it looks something like sloppy joe’s crammed into a margarita glass. She’s not prime rib anymore, if you catch my drift. Anyways, this woman, sloppy drunk, is making forceful attempts at PDA, which her date unsuccessfully attempts to block. The clever man found a middle ground and held her hand to keep her at bay.
The pasta came. THEIR pasta. Who says you have to wait until after dinner to get Ke$ha-drunk?
Losing interest, I continued on to my dinner and playfully harassed my brother and his friend. The redskin potatoes (which they regretfully forgot to bring out) are delicious at Mimi’s, by the way.
Loud laughter came from their direction again as they got up to leave the restaurant. I leaned forward across the table to fill my parents in on the entertainment, when she delivered the piece de resistance: Some ungodly force caused her to drop something from her purse, which she quickly bent over to retrieve, allowing a daisy-themed tramp stamp to come clawing out of her low-cut jeans for air.
Mimi’s, a place for family. Keep it classy.
