Struggle

Ovid's Guide To Not Meeting Women: Part II

Yeah, ask any woman who knows me and she'll tell you I have a knack for humiliating myself. Yesterday, I was out with friends at a restaurant and I ordered Hot Wings. Note the word "hot". That comes into play tomorrow, when I will again forcibly humiliate myself. For now, we'll deal with yesterday's embarrassing episode.

Our waitress, like all properly professional waitresses, waited until I had a mouthful of food before walking up and asking how everything was. Having a large bite of chicken wing in my mouth, but still partially attached to the chicken's limb, I elected not to remove a partially masticated bit of flesh from my mouth. Instead, I decided to finish biting of the meat, but the meat had other ideas. I got a piece of gristle stuck in my teeth and it wasn't budging. For the life of me, I could not tear that piece of meat off. I wound up hunching over, covering my hand with my mouth and trying several times to rip the chicken away from my face. _sister_madly_ looked at me and said "Oh baby, that looks so attractive you're making me wet."

Which brings me to tomorrow. You see, I have a date tomorrow afternoon. She seems like an awesome person, but the chicken, regrettably, has exacted its revenge. The Hot Wing sauce was trapped in the ends of my moustache and burned both sides of my mouth!!!! I'm going to show up looking like I have not one, but two lesions around my lips.

Possibly the only saving grace of this situation is that my moustache was roughly evenly trimmed, thus meaning the the holes that have been burned into my damned face are at least symmetrical.
  • Current Mood: aggravated aggravated
  • Current Music: A Funeral Dirge Playing in Head