Okay, first off, Clair texted me three times to make sure that I wish Prince a happy birthday on this blog today. He is her favorite artist and as she constantly reminds everyone, his music “makes her clothes fall off EVERY TIME!”. So, on behalf of Clair, happy birthday, Prince! You look gayer than ever and we’ve never loved you more.
Next I will tell you about the latest looney tunes shit that Clair pulled.
We were at brunch yesterday and she’s going on about how essential truffle oil is to a “not sucky brunch” and why she’s trying to give up hollandaise sauce to decrease the size of her ass but feels “it’s risky business” because she’s sure every guy thinks it’s “rip roaringly sexy when girls eat hollandaise, like get-a-rap-song-written-about-you-sexy”. And I’m just sitting there downing mimosas in order to numb the pain of Clair’s ceaseless food talk when in walks this guy.
He’s about 5’10 and he’s a portly dude. But the muscle-y type of heavy like a motorcycle rider instead of a cake enthusiast, ya know. His head is completely shaved head down to the scalp, totally bald, and he’s wearing a plain black baseball hat. Tattoos everywhere, my eyes are immediately drawn to the black ink tear drops underneath his scary eyes. A MURDERER WAS IN OUR PRESENCE. I was befuddled by the fact that this particular murderer also enjoys a nice Sunday brunch and was wondering about the logistics and humanity of it all until I suddenly became acutely aware of Clair and how this situation was probably about to go terribly wrong.
Clair was staring as if she’d seen an Ewok, or Snookie, the now perpetually pregnant formerly wild reality TV star. Her eyes were locked in on him like she was the lioness and he was an entire pack of gazelles. My heart started beating faster, waiting for the moment in which he would catch her laser eyes burning a hole in his meaty body. Then, he turned around and before I could look at Clair looking at him, I saw it. The man had a face tattoo that took up the entire left side of his face. From above his eye all the way down to his jaw – in haunting gangster lettering – it read “VEGAN”.
At this point, I didn’t know what to believe. The man was against animal cruelty but was cool whacking humans (maybe because he didn’t eat them?)? Or maybe the tear drops were for arugula plants that he had personally slaughtered and eaten from his yard? What an overwhelmingly wide spectrum of possible horrors! Regardless, I was deeply afraid of what Clair would do next as we all know there’s nothing that Clair hates more than vegans. She heartily practices a sort of blind, maniacal vegan racism and regularly verbally crusades against them in a barrage of hate speech while she blows through a rack of baby back ribs. WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN!? I WAS SO AFRAID YOU GUYS. I wanted to take a picture for proof of this walking lunacy but I was worried he might shank me with some sort of organic bamboo knife and I wasn’t sure my life was worth the minor victory of a digi snap.
So, like clockwork, Clair gets up to confront him, “No, Blair, this is bullshit, I have to say something,” and she dramatically pushes her chair out into the aisle, making a scene and instantly capturing the attention of all onlookers. And I’m like, “Clair, what the fuck, have some impulse control. SIT DOWN! There are old people in here trying to have brunch! You’re going to get everyone killed!”
And just as she’s marching up behind him, the cashier hands him a huge plate with a cheeseburger on it with his little number stand thing. He turns around to walk back to his table, but his path is blocked by psycho Clair. Standing in his way like a heroic traffic cop who takes her job too seriously, Clair proceeds to ask him in this deranged and sinister tone, “EXCUSE ME, BUT IS THAT YOUR CHEESEBURGER?!”
And then he just goes, “Yes,” and walks by her all annoyed and gently bumps her shoulder. And oh man, you guys, the relief I felt. It was like the entire restaurant collectively sighed with relief as if a bomb had just been miraculously deactivated seconds before detonation. Clair’s the worst.
But, dear readers, if I take any solace away from this near disaster, it’s that people can change and life is complicated. Murderers can like brunch. People who make permanent, visual statements on their face can change their minds. And I can be best friends with someone I hate.