Friday, March 6, 2009

Betcha My Mother Can Beat Up Your Mother

If you read my blog entry on Wednesday, you know that (A) I had a bad day at work and (B) I self-medicated myself with a big, fat cup of ice cream. I left out what happened in the time frame between both of these events.

After leaving work, hubby and I decided that a nice relaxing dinner would be a great way to unwind after a very hectic day. So, we made our way to Newport and happily took our places by the fireplace in one of our favorite Italian restaurants.

The restaurant was so cozy and all we could smell was the combination of fresh garlic bread baking in the kitchen and smoky wood burning in the fireplace. AHHH...a warm fire...a great meal...a lovely atmosphere....Nothing could ruin the end of this LONG day. Um...Did I say nothing?

Not so fast, Sally C.

Just as we were settling in with our crusty bread and dipping oil, in comes the hostess who seats an obnoxious bimbo and her associate two tables over from us. I knew from the get go that they weren't "together" because he mentioned his wife and she spoke of her fiance. But, they totally could have been having an affair because she behaved like a cheap floozy giggling at every word he said.

Apparently, they barely knew each other because all the bimbo did was brag, brag, brag about how wonderful she was (definitely debatable).

I honestly wasn't eavesdropping, but the room was so small I couldn't help but overhear her brag fest. And this is what I learned:

1. Her brother is a sociologist at Princeton.
2. Her mother is a linguist in Hungary.
3. Her mother-in-law to be is a journalist.
4. Her father-in-law to be is a cardiac surgeon.
5. She didn't mention her father, but I'm assuming he's not a truck driver from Jersey.

So, after listening to her blah, blah, blahing the night away about what overachievers she and her ENTIRE FREAKIN FAMILY WERE, and me wanting to stick pencils in my ears (and duct tape on her mouth), I told hubby I had an idea. I thought it would be funny if on the way to the bathroom, I stopped at bimbette's table and said, "OH YEAH! Well, my Mother was a seamstress in a sweatshop. And, I'll bet all the money in Vegas that she could kick your Mother's ass."

No comment from the hubby. But, he did flag the waitress down and said, "CAN WE HAVE THE CHECK PLEASE?"

WHAT? I wasn't really going to do it!

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