Saturday, 22 October 2011

Even Rocky Had A Montage

As you'll know if you read the previous post, my friends and I had planned a day of excitement for Wetsok's birthday. As a rule, the Fleetch and I tend to be on time if arriving at a party individually but if we try to go together we are invariably late. I'm not quite sure why (although there is far more potential for dicking about if both of us are in the flat at the same time and alcohol has been consumed) but in the past we have averaged about a 30 minute delay when trying to get somewhere together, so it was with some surprise that we arrived early at the carvery this morning. Our other friends turned up shortly after, and we tried to catch the eye of a passing waitress so we could start ordering. She ignored us. We tried again with another waitress, who also strode past. It wasn't too busy, but there seemed to be a lot of bustle, so we didn't fuss. Eventually a waitress appeared at our table.

Wetsoks: We have vouchers for the 2 for 1 breakfast.

She pushes forwards the vouchers.

Waitress: Ah, but there's only five of you.

The waitress glances around the table, and her gaze settles on me.

Waitress: Are you...a little one?

Me: (speechless with indignation) .....?!

My friends descended into fits of rapturous delight.

Tanyakit: (giggling) Yes, she is. Do we get some kind of extra discount for her?

Me: (choking) Mffrrrmgh!?!

Waitress: I'm so sorry, I just... I thought you were...younger than the rest....

I sulked. My friends laughed. The waitress looked apologetic.

Fleetch: Do you have, like, a children's special?

Wetsoks: Do you want some crayons, honey?

Me: I hate you guys.

The waitress took our order as fast as she could and scurried off looking slightly ashamed. My friends continued to laugh heartily at my discomfort.

Me: You know what? Laugh it up. Because she must have thought I was your child. Which means one of you looks old.

Wetsoks: (shrugging) I could look old enough to be your mother.

Me: No. No, you couldn't.

Tanyakit: Speaking of children, I was thinking about this the other day - when the zombie apocalypse happens, you should probably be the one to start repopulating.

Me: (in horror) What?

Tanyakit: Well let's face it, you're the youngest and you're quite healthy. Chances are you'd probably survive.

Me: Probably?!

Sarahnator: I can assist with the birth.

Tanyakit: Do you have medical experience?

Sarahnator: I've seen every episode of ER.

Fleetch: Excellent.

Me: (panicked) I'm not birthing children. Now or after the apocalypse. Have you seen my hips? They're narrow. I'm not built for it.

Tanyakit: Pfff, thin women have babies all the time.

Me: It would end up coming out of my stomach, like in Alien. I am not having post-apocalypse children. I'm putting my foot down on that dream right now.

The group sighed in mournful unison for a few moments (trying to guilt me into planning my future offspring after civilisation as we know it comes to an end) and then the restaurant door opened. A family came in, with four children of varying ages.

Wetsoks: Oh, look Otternator, it's your little playdates!

Me: I really hate you guys.

We had much hilarity on our archery/air rifle/paintball/axe-throwing course, and while I am happy (and surprised) to note that we all came back with our limbs, we did sustain a few bruises along the way. I won't bore you with the details, but I drew a picture that will hopefully capture the mood (yes, they actually got me crayons at dinner, much to the confusion of the staff, because I'm friends with the kind of people who think it is the height of hilarity to do things like that, and I absolutely love them for it).

Here is my artistic interpretation of the day's events, in crayon

 And here is the Fleetch's artistic representation of the day's events, dedicated to me:

We may have differing views on what the day was supposed to be about.

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