It’s Friday! And you know what that means. Two days of NO bitching. Unless, of course, you have to work on the weekends. Or live with truly horrible people you can’t stand.
Listen, I bitch a LOT. This I know. I complain and rant and foam over RIDICULOUS things. Things so insignificant, that, if you knew me, you’d HAVE to believe I was joking, right? Not necessarily! Even worse, I can sometimes put a POUT on, too, if I want… y’know, to go along with all that BITCHING that’s getting me no where. And that’s REALLY no good. NO ONE wants to see/hear/smell a middle-aged, white man bitching AND pouting about things he feels HE isn’t getting in life, considering all that’s wrong with the world. NO ONE.
One thing I’ll admit I often pout about is seaside eateries I patronize that tell me they’ve run out of oysters. Happens. To me. Constantly. I don’t even know when the hell I started LOVING oysters so much. But I do, I really do. And the ingesting of those slippery little suckers has now become a requirement if ever I’m engaged in any culinary activities by the sea. ESPECIALLY when I’m away on vacation on the Central Coast. When I’m up there, I expect these establishments to keep their oyster-centric ice boxes STOCKED, damn it. And so many of them never do and RUN OUT before I even get there. Oh, you should HEAR the excuses I get!
SERVER: Oh, we’re all out of oysters.
ME: (in a whiny panic) All OUT??
SERVER: Yeah, sorry. They all got slurped up in the big CLAM BAKE last night. You shoulda been here THEN.
ME: Well, wait a minute, what does a Clam Bake have to do with oysters?