Brock and I settled in for a late dinner at the upstairs bar of Zero Zero last night, and as we sat down, a gorgeous woman at the next table said, “Beth Spotswood and Brock Keeling!?!?”
Thrilled beyond words, Brock and I elbowed each other while throwing our arms around this reader with excellent taste.
Dottie was lovely, and after chatting for a bit, Brock and I took our seats, desperately hoping the rest of the restaurant noticed.
I love (the word ‘love’ isn’t nearly strong enough) when someone comes up and says hi. Particularly when I’m with Big Chris. Or my parents. It’s rare and exciting to get recognized, and I spend the rest of my night glowing and pointing out to my friends, “Remember three hours ago when that person recognized me? Yeah. Me too.”
But sometimes, people say some fucked up shit. Last week, Melissa and I found ourselves at a going away party, elbowing our way into the bar and wondering if someone could open a window. All of a sudden, this old dude marches towards us and snaps, “Are you two always together?!?!?”
He was horrified, appalled, annoyed. And I felt instantly embarrassed, defensive and caught off guard.
“Um, no.” We stammered. “Wait. What?”
“That’s disgusting!” He laughed, and marched away.
At this point, the second he was gone of course, we had loads to say.
“You don’t know us!”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“If we were men…”
“What the hell was that about?”
“We have gone two whole weeks without seeing each other?”
“Who cares! It’s none of his business!”
I regaled Brock with this experience, and he was livid. “Well, if I was there I would’ve had a shit fit. Saying that to you? Why?”
“I know. I wish I had prepared like, a whole tirade.”
But we agreed. It’s entirely and completely worth it to run into bitchy man in a bar, because I can talk shit about him here (you suck, old man.) And I met three awesome readers this week: Dottie, Jessica and Lori!
That being said, if I see that fucker walking around, saying shit to people’s faces, it’s on. I’ve been practicing my responses to you, Gramps. You better Velcro your shoes on tight, because I’m chasing your weird ass down…