The oppressive heat sent the hubby and I seeking shelter in one of those, “Mc Funster” chain restaurants this afternoon. Neither of was feeling like anything in particular and the stickiness of the air was hanging on my back making food the last thing on my mind, so what did I care if we ended up eating some benign crap…it was going to be cool and I could get me a Gin & Tonic to soothe my heat induced crabby mood. We waited a minute for our oversized booth, ordered our drinks and looked at the cartoon riddled menu before opting for an order of chips and salsa to start.
We have been so tied up with other things that we have been neglecting spending any time together, just the two of us alone…not that we are that couple, the “we need to make time for us” couple. We are together all the time, shit he works from home, wish sometimes that he were gone more, the whole absence and fonder deal, but time away from our little “stations” at home sounded like just what I needed…yeah, so the Mc Funsters.
“Sapphire with a splash of Tonic, I made them myself” our slightly flirty waiter said as he plopped the drinks down before us, “You two ready to order?” We were, we did and I munched away on my too thick, needing salt chips and salsa. I took a few sips from my, “Whoa he aint lying” cocktail and felt my shoulders begin to loosen…..BLAST, a rush of screaming hot, wet air met the side of my face, “What the F@#&*!” I glared and my head snapped around to see just what, and whom had assaulted me. And there she stood, a cute little blonde girl in a sundress, she had just come in from the outdoor patio and was bounding over to the table where the, “grownups” were. “Oh okay” I thought and went back to retelling the hubby a story about a book I had just finished.
BLAST! Freaking heat wave was up in my mug again, oh and yes…it was little miss sundress again, this time going back out to the patio. I was mildly annoyed but tried to shrug it off and just chalk it up to 10 year old behavior.
Blast, heat…irked.
Blast, heat…irked.
Blast, heat…getting pissed.
This happened no fewer than 15 times during the course of a chain restaurant lunch, that’s pretty aggressive in the coming in and out department. I went from being irked to being massively pissed off, just who was in charge of this sundress clad, flame thrower? Why was this kid running in and out of the joint behaving like a puppy with an enlarged urinary tract? Was no one watching this little beast, making sure she like sat and ate her meal, oh and didn’t piss off the people sitting by the door….donde, donde the parents? Then I saw Mom…
You know those people that are, how best to say this….trying real hard? Mom was yellow blonde, deeply tanned…too tanned, she must have been late thirties early forties but the sun, well it had taken its toll…she looked like a Louis Vuitton bag. Her body was super tight though, real tight, like she had ripped in all the muscle her 19 year old, Latin American trainer could get out of her. Tank top, short shorts and wedgy heel things…she appeared a few times, each time I assumed to reel in her rug rat, yeah but she didn’t. She was just prancing around the restaurant, popping her head out the patio door, (yes, she was opening it too) to “holla” at her little fire starter….way to go lady.
I ate as much as I could stand and was anxious to get the check and get the hell out of there, the wee one had bummed my whole meal with her imposing her 10 year old will, and blasts of fiery hot air that came with it, upon me that and her Mom was just a reminder to me, a reminder of what I hate about packages.
This woman, on paper was the whole package. Blonde, lean, fertile and willing to do whatever it took to make herself attractive. After we got in the car I looked at the hubby and said, “I would rather be fat, ugly and barren, than be that woman” Carl chuckled but I could tell he knew what I was talking about. You can work out, Lipo, Derma-brase, diet and tan until the cows come home…but all that shit has an expiration date so you better have something of substance on the inside right? Know what I think is my most attractive qualities are, I raised a person that is better than I am and I am honest. No bells and whistles here kids, no wedgy heels, no pimpin’ my wares, just trying to muddle through and feel like the shit I have going for me is the junk on the inside. So the rub? Most people are dazzled by the shiny package.
It’s no different with wine, I cannot tell you how many times I have walked through the store with a timid customer that confessed that they knew nothing about wine. I point things out, explain why I think this wine would make a great gift, only to hear, “She loves cats, do you have a wine with cats on the label, that would be fun!” sigh, “Or you could go that way” is all I can say. Or the person that pays an extra $15.00 to have their $7.00 wine shrink wrapped into a basket, really….you wouldn’t rather spend that extra cash on an upgrade? I can stroll up and down the isles with people only to have them dismiss every recommendation in favor of, “Oh what a pretty bottle” If you are buying a gift for your wine loving peeps, don’t be dazzled by the package, find out what is inside from someone that has tasted it….trust me.
Those of us that are “really into it” could give two shits about the packaging, thick glass, deep punt, long corks and flashy labels mean nothing, Far Niente…just sayin’…..none of that means a thing when you have, “the rest of the budget” in your glass. You ever spent an evening with a beautiful retard…(okay for you guys, let’s make it a week, or a month) great to look at but down-right excruciating to try and find interesting. Shiny, flashy, showy and primary is only sexy for as long as you are “looking” at it, once you try and truly understand it, taste it, appreciate it well sometimes…there aint no there, there.
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