Breanne and I went out to dinner this evening. We got put on a waiting list for a table. I decided to use this time resourcefully and to use the restroom. I approached this one waiter and asked where the facilities were located. He somehow managed to translate my subtext into, “Take me now, please.”
On the upside: I was promoted to the top of the aforementioned forty-minute waiting list and was comped my appetizer and drinks.
On the downside: I unintentionally used my womanly wiles to take advantage of literally the sweetest kid to walk the face of the earth—who then, on my receipt, proceeded to give me his number:
Which made me feel like a terrible human being.
So, being THE WORLD’S BIGGEST CUNT, I left him this gem:
I’m such a charmer.
Foster, if you’re reading this, you’re a fucking champ. And if it makes you feel any better, we’ll always have Red Lobster.
