We went out last night and I ran into some comedians I know. It was nice. After they left my girlfriend and I sat there when this trio sits next to us. A loud, constantly conversing with anyone 20 year old wearing pink knee length shorts; his spray tanned faced, ripely stuffed into too little clothing girlfriend with toxic levels of perfume wafting from her and his mother. We know it was his mother because every 45 seconds he’d say, “Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Now, other than the mother, it’s not all that odd to see a couple like this in this general area. Sadly. And they wouldn’t have been worthy of a mention on these hallowed pages except for the fact the boyfriend gave the girlfriend a placemat and crayons. Which she ripped into as if it was a brand new bottle of Love’s Baby Slut: Attention Craving Whore Edition.
“Is she actually coloring?” My girlfriend asks.
“With glee.” I respond. Now I don’t know the last time you’ve seen an adult color with crayons but I’d hazzard to guess it was fucking never!
But she’s having a ripping good time. Tongue out wagging, furrowed brow, working it hard, making sure she was getting that wax INSIDE the lines!
During his loud conversation, loud as in traffic zooming past on the major highway just outside beeped to signal him to simmer down, to anyone more than ten feet away, his mother was watching him with all the pride only a mother who could raise such a dweeb could have. Seriously, she was looking at him so joyously you’d think he was curing toe fungus with the mere velocity of his speech.
Some time later, the boyfriend is checking out his girlfriends Van Gogh (if you get my drift – but really all I mean is coloring, you pervs) before saying,
“You know, that’s for six years olds, right?”
She stops for a moment, checks out her art, looks up at him, smiling a smile only someone who has acheived greatness can, and says,
“That’s why I’m doing so good.”
She turns her passion back to her crayonic masterpiece without missing a beat.