So here we are, trying out a restaurant that sells "NC's Best Bar-B-Que" (yeah buddy. that's what they ALL say.) I'm just a tad put off by the giant "JESUS IS LORD" letters printed over the door. Hey, religiosity is a cool thing. But I'll be damned (nice pun here eh?) if you're going to preach at ME while I'm eating. The radio station blaring "upbeat" (read: overly peppy "contemporary Christian") music doesn't help my appitite a whole lot, either. But I "suck it up" ('nother nice pun?) and we sit at a table, and place an order.
It happens every friggin time we go out........ We're sitting there munching away..........
The jackass sitting at the table across from us, you with the 4 kids... goddammit.
He's staring. At ME.
For those who are just catching up here, this is my #1 pet peeve. Being stared at, particularily while I'm eating. Do I have a flipping third eye? Have I sprouted a zit all of a sudden? Or, which is more likely, he's trying to figure out why I'm with an "older" man (news flash: We're close to the same age. Dent looks a little older, I look a little younger.) I make sure the ring I wear is visible (no, we aren't married, but it stops a lot of people from asking if Dent is my father...)
This happens EVERY single time we're out. No, I'm *not* exaggerating here. Folks see "little girl, with old man" and assume the worst. If you're THAT goddamn nosy, ASK.
Now, you may wonder, as screwy as I can be in public places, why being stared at bothers me. I haven't fully figured it out, myself. I think it has something to do with ME creating the attention vs. attention being put on me by someone else. This is why I REFUSE to go to certain places with Dent on my birthday...Cause if dem bitches come at ME with a candlelit cupcake singing the "birthday song" in public, I'm leavin'. I hate being fussed over, and I don't want attention unless *I* create it. I guess I missed out on some "girly" genes somewhere.
On a related note to girly genes, or girly JEANS... I just had to get another pair at Wallyworld. Except finding a pair for ME is a pain in the jeans. Women's jeans are either A)TOO big (I'm not J-Lo, folks) or B) TOO long (I ain't the jolly green giantess neither!). After a long cruel chase through the aisles.... I finally find a pair that comes close.
Size 16H. In *boys*.
I was bitterly complaining about this fact, that I have to buy *children's* jeans. Some woman chirps in "You should be thankful!"
Why, because I have no ass, and also have stumpy legs? Forget the "You're smaller than most women" idea, I'd rather be "normal".
Or at least not have to shop in the friggin CHILDREN'S section.
Anyone else have this problem?
But this show ain't free.
You M-Fas owe me a quarta'.