Let me be clear, when I am hungry I am a nightmare. I cannot think, work diplomatically or essentially function like a normal human being. It’s a known fact in my family that if I am hungry, I am an absolute ass hole. Despite being 135 lbs and 5′ 6″ tall, I-LOVE-TO-EAT! Perhaps it’s my Italian roots, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a combined potion of my Ritalin and Tamoxifen that keeps me skinny but regardless, hunger is painful and do not wish to ever feel it. As I tweeted yesterday, you will NEVER, EVER, EVER hear the following words from my mouth: “I forgot to eat lunch today”. That’s adorable.
So to celebrate my new job, my in-laws offered to take my sons for an overnight so my husband and I could go out to dinner. Thank the baby Jesus, I’ll be able to sleep in till 9 contingent upon my Chihuahua not waking me up from a drunken comma at 4 a.m.
We thought about going out to the lake to a winery but that would mean sitting in the blistering heat so we agreed we would leave here at 7:30 p.m. to allow the temperature to drop a little. After laughing how there was no way in hell I was going to wait till 8 p.m. to eat, we decided on an alternative resource for food. Seeing that a Chinese buffet, tapa restaurant or Golden Corral wasn’t going to be the most date night friendly establishment or take care of my bottomless pit stomach, we chose Logan’s Roadhouse Grill which when looking back on it, is about as appealing as a TGI Fridays or Applebee’s. Look people, I was hungry, weak and not thinking straight. Don’t judge.
At 6:45, I was fading in and out of consciousness. My hunger pains had reached an all time high. We got into C’s SUV and made our trek out of the neighborhood. As we reached the entrance, we were being flagged down by a little girl who couldn’t be older than 10. She had her hands stretched high and long, waving back and forth as if she were on a deserted island and we were the rescue team. What I took as her big brother, sat in a chair, behind her, under a tree.
“Oh, that’s cute. She is selling lemonade,” C said. “Should I stop?”
“No. She doesn’t have food. Keep going,” I barked, but then felt guilty. “Yeah, turn right,” I said reluctantly, rolling my eyes. “I feel bad. Let’s just get this over with.”
C turned right and parked the wrong way in front of the house. He rolled down his window in which the little girl began her pitch. When she was talking, I noticed there wasn’t a lemonade stand but the front lawn was littered with toys so perhaps she was holding a pop up garage sale of her own stuff? My sisters and I would do that. We would have 1 table of the toys we didn’t want anymore such as pound puppies and get in shape girl exercise equipment.
“How much is your lemonade?” C asked.
“I don’t have lemonade. It’s $4 for 2 full dances and $2 dollars for 1 dance.”
‘Come again?’ I thought.
“Well obviously we know which career path she is heading down,” I mumbled under my breath, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. It was at that moment I realized my husband was about to be labeled a pedophile and not even know it.
“Give her a stupid dollar and don’t watch her dance!” I said sternly, under my breath. He didn’t hear me.
“$4 dollars?” My husband countered as if this were a negotiation at the car dealership. “That’s pretty expensive!”
“Just give her a dollar and let’s go. You are going to look like a weirdo!” I scream whispered. Obviously he wasn’t picking up on the man in van, giving money to a little girl so she can dance for him creepy vibe that was now flashing in my head like a Time Square sign!
Just then the mother opened up the storm door. I bent my head down and put my hand over my eyes. This is bad. I thought she was going to scream at my husband, like what the fuck? Instead she yelled an apology to us.
“I’m sorry. She is raising money for Trump. She does this all the time.” She said as she was holding back a toddler in nothing but a diaper while nudging a dog back with her foot.
Did I hear this right? All the time? Donald Trump? Your daughter is flagging down complete strangers, collecting their money for Trump all the while offering a dance” Did the mother see anything wrong with this?
Getting back to King Oblivion, I heard him say, “How about I give you $1 and you can do half a dan-”
“NO!” I cut him off in mid sentence. “She isn’t doing ANY DANCE! Now give her that stupid dollar and let’s go!” I was pissed now. This was the last time I feel bad for a neighbor kid making money. Why couldn’t she of had her stupid lemonade or sell one of her Cabbage Patch Kids?
He hastily gave her a $1 and drove off. After I allowed a minute to collect myself, I do what I always do when put in uncomfortable situations, I make a joke.
“You know,” I said in a completely serious tone. “Her brother was probably her pimp. He’s probably going to beat her because she didn’t get the $4 out of you.”
“Shut up,” he retorted.