GRRRRRRRRR. I thought we had already established this: OUTSIDE. SUCKS. There is no reason to go there except to get from one place to another, and we won’t even have to do THAT once those lying scientific bastards build us a transporter!
I’m sure y’all can guess, we had another outdoor wedding reception this weekend. In the cold. And the rain. IN A TENT. Which was bad enough, until I heard this woman (who had brought her BABY to the chilly Death Tent) tell some other woman that the baby “had been sick.” So I look at the kid, and I swear to Jeebus, I think it had the mumps. Like, its face was all swole up or something. DO PEOPLE EVEN GET MUMPS ANYMORE? And WHY did you bring the little mumpy bastard out amongst people, anyway, much less to the chilly Death Tent?
Then we’re standing there, playing music and minding our own, when this woman comes up to Chuckweasel. Apparently she had been going to sing a song at the reception, but she’s too sick. So she says this to Chuckweasel AS SHE’S SHAKING HIS HAND! Chuckweasel doesn’t even want ME to touch him when I’m sick, lady! Keep them hands to yo’self!
I’ve been pounding oscillococcinum and Vitamin C ever since, but it’s coming, I feel it. Luckily I didn’t get sick fast enough to ruin the Red Lobster Experience with Poor Ol’ Dad — Hoody woulda cut a bitch.