Last night, I was walking to my car to drive to the gym. I noticed a family standing dangerously close to the vehicle, the youngest member playing with my dangling side mirror.
I walk up and unlock the car, which sounds a tiny, feminine alarm beep.
I shoot the kid a friendly, wide-eyed stare.
The child continues twisting and turning my mirror while the mother is entrenched in a conversation with a neighbor about turkey breast.
Quite perturbed, I look at the child and in a hyper-friendly voice, I squeak “Uh Oh!”
(Yes, he was that young)
As the meat loving mother continues her diatribe, I walk over to the child, physically remove the mirror from his hand while he mumbles “Is this your cah?”
“Yes, it is.”
FINALLY the mother comes over to him and says “Listen, do you hear what he’s saying?”
What I’m saying?? You should be the one stopping him from dismantling strange vehicles, lady!!
My car is ghetto enough, I feel like the poor thing just had its testicles twisted!
I’m sure I will be punished later when it stalls at a light or let’s out an embarrassing squeal as I turn a corner. Who knew power steering fluid could be so vital?
THE MAIN COURSE
OK, the meatloaf sammie above was enormous and the decor was so atrocious, I needed to say something!
Every square inch of The Main Course is splattered in mural. Sandy beach on one side and a happy, pink and orange village on the other. It was nauseating.
The vibe was the backroom of an oppressed Eastern European home in 1984 trying desperately to brighten up their weary, every-move-watched life.
It’s a strange place, you gotta check it out.