Fast forward 12 hours, and we’re at a dueling piano bar (whatever that means). I had a man approach me and start chatting. I didn’t mean to be rude, but he was flirty and I was not interested in wasting his time or mine. So, I pointed to my wedding ring (ha Travis! I did need it) and said as politely as possible “happily married, five children!” Instead of this chasing him off, he seemed more interested and started talking about how he’s from Nigeria and has nine kids there and one kid here (because "things happen"). Something in the way he was so flippant instantly had me enraged. So, I let him have it, asked him if he left a wife and nine children destitute to come hang out in bars, I hoped he fully supported them, etc. Typically I'm not the type of person who tells complete strangers just exactly what I think of them, but I figured if he had the nerve to use nine abandoned kids in Nigeria as a pickup line, social norms were out the window. This has been a crazy emotional week, one in which my heart has absolutely bled dry for the orphan in Africa. Poor dumb guy ... he could NOT have picked a worse woman or a worse time to try this line. If the “happily married, five children” doesn’t chase persistent men away, this line of questioning certainly will. Turns out he made it all up, fake accent and all, and came over later to apologize. Whatever. Just so you know “nine kids in Nigeria” is the worst pick-up line EVER. Spread the word! Don’t use it!
Getting married at 18, I pretty much skipped the bar scene. So, these are the things I learned Friday night:
* A piano bar: My expectation was along the lines of classy establishment, 40 year-old man in a suit quietly playing Billy Joel music, small intimate, candlelit tables. The reality was the exact opposite, trashy music (hey, let’s see how many songs we can add the F-word to), pulling trashy girls on stage, loud, loud, loud!
* Bartenders get really irritated when you come every 15 minutes for a refill of your water, and they have a capacity to ignore you for a long time. I tried tipping, but that didn’t really seem to help (maybe I was being too cheap. What's the going tip rate for 8 ounces of water?) All I can say is get bigger cups, and I won’t bother you so often!
* There were so many young, beautiful girls there. First it made me feel old and frumpy. But, after watching for a bit, it just made me feel sad for them. A few of the cutest girls were clamoring so hard for the attention of men, and I just wanted to scream at them “Don’t you know you are beautiful? Don’t you know you are treasured by the Creator of the universe? These men don’t care a thing for you. They just want to get in your pants! Which won’t be too difficult since half your hiney is already hanging out. Good grief - cover up!!!” Clearly I had already solidified my crazy old lady status with the interaction with the fake Nigerian deadbeat dad, and so I managed to restrain myself.
* Every style does apparently come back around. I’m pretty sure I saw some nasty elastic jumpers from the sixth grade.
* Lots of my brain cells are being wasted on stupid songs from the 80’s and 90’s. Precious, precious brain cells. I can’t think of a single benefit of knowing every word to Baby Got Back, Friends in Low Places, Let's Talk About Sex and every other song that was played from those decades. Nope, not one! Perhaps if I could selectively purge this junk, I would be able to remember when the water bill is due or what birthday party my kid needs to go to on what day?
Despite bar fights with fake dead-beat dads and sympathy for slutty low self esteem girls, the evening was really fun. I am so proud of my sisters and their friends. I wish I would have had friends like them when I was young. I wish every 22 year-old could have friends like these girls.
And now, for pictures!
I’m the one with the shades. I told the girls this was my cover-up-those-wrinkly-eyes-and-try-to-look-20-something-disguise.
Nothing says gorgeous like my little sisters. Clearly they got the youth and the beauty.
Nothing says beautiful like head back, mouth wide open, tongue out.
Nothing says reality like size 18 granny panties and nothing says our mom more than a gag gift.
Nothing says “I’m so proud of you little sister” like buying you slutty lingerie.