It's Not Just Pink, It's Shiny Pink

So, it's true - there was a time in my life when I wasn't always this smooth:

. . . but that was a long time ago and I don't like to think about it. I just like to think about how well-poised I am now, and how well it comes off on camera.

(Ok that's not actually me. It's just some girl who looks like me when she's upside down and paying someone to give her a lap dance. Me? I get my lap dances for FREE damnit. And repetitively! "Keep that shit on repeat" I yell when I like what I'm seeing. And then I turn up the Dion real loud. Because when I get danced on I want it to be to Celine Dion making love to my ears while a half naked Jake Gyllenhaal licks whip cream off his own nipples.)

Anyway. . .

I just came across that picture of a stranger being very suave (I honestly have no idea who she is - but I know for sure it's not me, a) because she's wearing a silk top and a skirt and I only wear jeans at the strip club, and b) because I took the picture.) and seeing that picture reminded me of this picture down here:

Wherein I confront the waiter about the horror that is Gabi's hideous, shiny pink purse. I think I shouted something like, "EXHIBIT A!"

(shouting "exhibit a" is suave. lawyers do it aaaaall the time.)

Then proceeded to ask if he approved, and would he want to be seen with this glinting off of anything that has even the dimmest of a glow, because I'm pretty sure it melted a piece of the carpet when I winked at it.

He shook his head no, and spilled that water on me. He was so terrified of that purse his hands shook when he was trying to wipe up the spill because it was staring at him.

Making the waiter spill and feel totally uncomfortable while doing his job?

Not so suave.

But now I'm older, and smoother, and I can control myself around servers and just strangers in general. I don't take pictures of them in strip clubs (anymore) and I don't make embarrassing conversation to all those involved.

Unless I go to the local Subway by myself and there's no one to stop me.

Subway: You want lettuce?

Me: 'Course.

Subway: (talking to her co-worker) You see Mad Men?

Me: Ooh I love that show.

Subway: (ignoring me) That show about the mens from the 40's.

Me: I think it's the 50s.

Subway2: Yeah I saw it. I like that main guy.

Subway: Oh hell yeah, what's his name? You want olives?

Me: I love olives.

Subway: Mia Hamm or something.

Subway2: Mia Hamm is a girl.

Subway: Hamm something.

Subway2: Jon?

Subway: Yeah. Mayo?

Me: No thanks. He's so sexy.

Subway: . . .

Subway2:. . .

Me: I wanna get him pregnant.

Subway: . . .

Subway2: . . . .

Me: I can't do that. I don't know why I said that. He's a boy. I didn't mean, I meant I want to make out with him.

Subway: . . .

Subway2:. . .

Me: Not him-him, but his character-him.

Subway: . . .

Subway2: . . . .

Me: I'll get the meal please.

Why's it so hard to make friends when you're an adult?

So I need a co-eater when I go out to avoid things like this. For the sake of my friend's embarrassment levels at the very least.