So, whats killing you today?
Nobody said that, I said that.
But someone had to.
There are two old men sitting at the table next to me.
And they are talking about their ailments and injuries.
Each one is apparently taking their turn and talking about a disease or break or affliction in its entirety.
And they have been doing it for the last 15 minutes.
I had no idea the human body could absorb that much punishment and still live.
For starters, they have both been shot in “The War”.
They don’t specify what war, just “The War.”
As I am a sucker for old veterans, I have decided these old guys are complete badass.
The top three ailments listed during this period:
- A knife wound one guy got when he was a cop years ago in Chicago by “Some young punk.” (He is now ahead 1-0)
- The other gentleman had his entire prostate removed a few years back. (Score is now tied.)
- Got the Clap in the Philippines during the war. (I’m sorry, this one wins it all.)
I am of the firm opinion that these old dudes are classic old school……something.
I have yet to figure out what, exactly.
Let me think on it and get back to you.
The table next to them is occupied by the loudest Latin women I have ever heard.
They have to be speaking Puerto Rican simply because there are no other languages that flat-out fast.
They might be arguing, but there is no way to be sure.
Navy men, I knew I would figure it out. They are old school Navy men.
The shouting and talking over each other might be just the attempt to be heard over the other.
The finger pointing? I am kind of at a loss there.
There aren’t any societal situations that involve that kind of vigorous finger pointing that are not tense and angry.
All right, it has to be angry, one woman just crumbled up the bag her coffee cake came in and threw it at her partner.
Said partner is not pleased.
Its now on, the word “Puta” has been harshly whispered.
How is it that regular speech for these ladies is so loud, but now the argument starts and they are whispering.
Stage whispers, but none the less.
If I spoke Puerto Rican, I would have a juicy story to tell you.
But the gringo don’t hablo, so go fish.
Now, as mad as the two ladies are at each other, they both have time to chew their kids out for playing with the plastic thermal mug display.
A pyramid has been built.
Once the pyramid fell, for the third time, the women stopped whispering at each other and began yelling in unison at the kids.
And the kids begin furiously cleaning up like their lives depend on it.
And maybe they do.
Even the old veterans look a little spooked, and you would think that they would be immune.
Because you don’t want to piss off a Latin woman.
Their stereo-typical temper is the stuff of legends.
As well as their martial skill with a shoe.
Before you scream racist at me, I have known one proud Puerto Rican woman in my life. (She defined it as “Proud Puerto Rican.)
And she had hours of stories to tell about her mom, her aunts, and her legendery grand mother’s shoe wielding ability.
Evidently, a properly handled woman’s shoe is deadlier than a katana.
And I would not want to face either one.
THE BUTTONS ARE FOR CLICKING, LIKE THE BLOG ON FB!!!!