I once dated a dude named Fred who not only managed a “sporting gear store” at the tender age of 31 but also “wowed” his parents by never obtaining a drivers license or high school diploma. Considering that during my junior year in college I notably had no standards, I WAS OBVIOUSLLY MADLLY IN LOVE! I had rose colored fantasies of ironing his polo work shirts for what I assumed would be the remainder of our happy blue collar lives together. Not that the relationship was perfect, my mom was seconds away from attacking him with a frying pan, and he was beginning to take me on dates to the “dollar movies”. Needless to say, he was walking on very thin ice, and I was getting worried that my dream wedding reception catering trash can punch and a real live “Lynard Skynard” cover band was never going to come to fruition.
It is literally impossible to get on my mothers bad- side. This is a woman, who upon entering her household will immediately drill you on your preferences in homemade cookies. Let’s just say, that in my teens it was routine to come home to find my mom holding court, apron in tow with no fewer that 6 stoner boys putting major dents in my food cupboards. I would trip over their skateboards that were scattered across our hardwood floors, and glare into the potheads bloodshot eyes as my mom would naively snicker, “Lizzzybits, those boys sure do have a hearty appetite!!!” So naturally, I figured that when my mom shook hands with my beau, she would surely win him over with her effortless charisma. What I did not expect, was for him to belittle her while playing the most intense game of “nostril flaring/devils advocate” that I have ever seen. Not a moment after shaking hands, Fred began verbally accosting any small talk my mom would bring to the table. I finally hit a wall when he questioned the legitimacy of her stance that while she visited France as a little girl she found the people to be lacking in the hygiene department. When she quoted the known stereotype that the “French stink”, Ryan blew his top. “I am not sure what area of France you were visiting,” he snickered “But the country of France is very high brow”.
This was coming from a guy who lived with his meth head Uncle Ron. THis was a man who took pride in frantically brushing his wiener dog and wearing ankle high Ugg boots in the middle of summer!! It’s like, hello; do you really want to play the “what’s cooking in your bathtub game”? Sure, he wasn’t living “via double wide” just yet, but his residence definitely did not come with a butler and live in masseuse. I think it is hilarious when someone who is sitting on the brinks of “government funding” acts refined and sophisticated. I don’t give a rat’s ass if your dining table has the finest Tupperware in town; there is absolutely no excuse to put someone down before they have given you good reason.
Against my better judgment I decided that I would try to introduce him to my best girlfriend in the world. My friend Ashley has always been like toilet paper, soft, comforting and useful. Surely there was no way they wouldn’t hit it off. I had arranged for a heavy night of drinking, with the hidden agenda of possibly persuading her to also start a serious relationship with one of his “maintenance man” friends. I’d seen Ashley’s eyes dance over Marshal Mather’s character in “8 mile”, so I knew for a fact that the stars were in line for our planned rendezvous. It was obvious to me that she was yearning for a bad boy who could not only rap, but who also looked breathtaking in “fruit of the looms” wife beaters and I was over the moon with the knowledge that a double wedding was in our futures.
Our plan was to hit up some bar that was having special drink promotions in a kinda shady part of town. I proceeded to pick up my partner in crime, and bit my tongue as I noticed she was lugging one of her many Louis Vuitton bags that mismatched perfectly with her black slacks and purple silk top. I had neglected to mention the location where we were headed to meet her new sweetheart, and was nervous maybe she wouldn’t fit in, considering that she wasn’t rocking black rooted bleached hair or discounted clothes.
At first, everything seemed to be running smoothly and my amazing besty even complimented my boyfriend’s piercing blue eyes. Ashley however, wears her emotions on her sleeve after a few drinks. It is a normalcy for her to have two glasses of red wine and sneer at your hair as if it was giving off a repugnant odor, only to move slowly away from you while shaking her head in dismay. So, as the night progressed and the drinks kept flowing, she became more and more disturbed with our current surroundings.
“Liz, did you hear the great news, they are having great deals tonight and for the mere price of $10 you can consume as much of their natty light draft beer as your little heart desires!” she scoffed.
“Ashley, lock it up, I’m not in the mood".
“ Is this really your future Liz?” Ashley reprimanded, " You have real gumption thinking I am going to take one for the team, and actually talk to any of your boyfriend’s friends. Ya, like maybe I’ll be as lucky as you and find me a man who will wine and dine me via brown bag special down by a quarry”!…. OMG…do they have a jukebox??…they do!!!” she squealed and stammered away.
I watched Ashley put her beer down, and lean suggestively against the glass of the jukebox as an older gentleman with missing teeth and a scruffy face looked her up and down in prominent approval. My boyfriend approached, reeking of beer and Marlboro cigarettes asking if he could borrow a few dollars to get himself some shots of POPOV VODCA. It is my belief that you can judge someone’s social status by the pedigree of cigarettes they smoke. As an example, I associate Marlboro cigarettes with cock fighting, Nascar, and Bixby, Oklahoma; whereas I connect Parliament lights with cocaine and eating disorders. I believe that if these companies were to ever embrace their true nature and begin to advertise their products using these well known stereotypes, sales would go sky high! As he exhaled smoke right onto my face, I obediently procedded to dig out a ten spot from my clutch purse. Suddenly, I saw the light. In that moment I knew we needed to end this laughable charade; I could see the ridicule in my friend’s drunken lazy eye. I had a reputation for dating persons under my caliber, and seemed to always feel to need to fix someone who would never change. “Look Fred, i’ve been thinking. I don’t think this is working out for me. You are a way nice guy, but I need to focus on me right now. I’m sorry, and don’t worry about paying me back for the shots of vodka. They were well anyways.” Holding my breath so as not to dry heave on the guy I had just dumped, I kissed him goodbye.
Just then, I heard Ashley shriek with utter delight only to see her rocking melodically off beat to a track off of Madonna’s Erotica album with her eyes closed. “I don’t want to be your mother, and I don’t want to be your sister…I JUST WANT TO BE YOUR LOOOOOVVVVVVER!!!..
“AHHHHHHH, Liz, do you remember this song???,” she asked, pointing wide eyed to the jukebox as if this magical machine were responsible for all the happiness in the world.
“We are so dancing right now!!!!!!, Let me just grab my natty, hold on, I’m coming over”.
I watched in horror as Ashley began reprimanding the scruffy toothless wonder who was checking her out earlier. All I could see from a distance, was her pointed index finger quickly moving to and fro like the hands on a compass.
Ashley then strutted towards me with a look of indignation spread across her face.
Ashley then strutted towards me with a look of indignation spread across her face.
“Umm Liz, we are bouncing, that man over there is defiantly homeless and he not only stole my beer but also asked me for $5”.
The ride home was a quiet one…………
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