PIC Night

PIC (my partner in crime for you new readers) and I went to a local franchise for dinner the other night.  We now have new nicknames, and I don’t think I can go back again soon, but we’ll get to that.

We picked the said restaurant because I have a massive affinity for eating like a rabbit.  I can’t get enough of this place’s salad.  I have eaten four bowls, one sitting, all alone.  No lie!  And if you knew what I eat on a normal basis? You’d be like Oh Holy Cow!! Trust.

Anyway, PIC and I head to the restaurant, singing Beyonce because….that’s just what we do.  While waiting, we had a glass of wine, vaginas properly lifted, and toasted to girl’s night.

Eventually we are lead to an arbitrary table in the back.  We sit.  Then, PIC and I look around and see what I’m pretty sure was a wrap party for some reality teenage mommy show.  There were six moms, all with kids under 1 year, all look less than 21 (although two were drinking wine, but I am not sure they were carded.) Not judging (ok maybe I a little), but here is the conversation we overhear:

Mom 1: I can’t believe I am an old mom.  I didn’t have my first kid til I was 17.

Mom 2: Totally. I was 15 with my first and I was almost too old.

Mom 3: I couldn’t do it if I was an old mom at like 25. How would you have the energy?

Mom 4: Right? This one (she passes her baby like a football to a mom across from her), he’s more than I can handle. And with his sister at home hitting the terrible 2s? God, I don’t know what I’d do if I were old.

PIC and I: Oh. My. Dear. God.

There was so much wrong with that entire conversation.  We didn’t know what to say first, so we took the less obvious route.

Me: Did she just call us old?

PIC: Yeah.

Me: REALLY!?

PIC: WTF.  Yeah.

Me: They think WE are old?  I mean, having a baby before you can legally drink or vote is super smart, right?

PIC: I know right? This is really bad reality TV.

Me: I KNOW! But much more sad because they are like RIGHT THERE. (watching one mom swill down a glass of wine like it’s a festive fruit punch) Do you think she’s really 21?

PIC: I have no idea.  She doesn’t look it.  Seriously, this is sad….

Me: But it’s like watching animals feed at the zoo.  I know I should stop watching, but I just can’t. And the way they talk! I would clutch my pearls if I had any on.

I realize that if I don’t stop looking, I will be drawn in and forced to comment. We don’t want another hippy hippo episode right?  Finally, I avert my eyes, and look at the table to my left.  MORE babies and young moms, although these have husbands in tow.

Me: Really!?  More babies!?

PIC: They sat us in the fertile section!

Me: I hope to GOD that doesn’t rub off.  I have enough right now with cats and a turtle.

We eat a little. I order more than just rabbit food because I realize I’m starving.

PIC: (She begins to giggle, which sets me into giggles.) OMG! Do you see that couple behind me!?  She begins humming.

Me: Wow.  They are…..unique. What are you humming?

PIC: The theme from Odd Couple.

Me: BAHAHAHA! (I should note here that this couple was a tiny man of like 6 ft 2, 160; she was like 5 ft 2, 180.  Between laughs, I gasp. I. Can’t. Stop. Laughing.)

At this point, our waiter has boxed our food. He quietly lays it on the table.  And, a new set of nicknames are born: behold.

image

Wheat Mush and Rav? Really? Could I have a less attractive name on my box please?

One look at the boxes and I roar with laughter. I have tears streaming down my face and this makes my PIC laugh too. The restaurant is looking at us like we are uncivilized, and our waiter very insistently asks us not so steal his super fantastic light up pen as he scurries away.  At first I was like – um, do I look like a thief? But, then PIC reminded me that it is a light-up-fantastic pen… and I DO like a fancy pen….so maybe the waiter was right in insisting we not steal his pen.  I digress, but we did not steal the pen.

Wheat Mush? Oh for God’s sake….. could you not find a better way to say whole wheat pasta and mushrooms?  How about wheat w/ shroom? Rav.  Ok. I get that. But, my name is forevermore Wheat Mush.  Hers, Rav.  I’ll deal with it because it makes me laugh, but please don’t put that on my tombstone.

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1 Comment

  1. Pingback: PIC Night « Stuff I Can't Put On Facebook's Blog

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