So, off the Banana went with his typical plan of being someone else on Friday night. That’s right, the kids were out and the female unit was gone with the fellow women, so off I went.
Now, before we begin: I don’t normally tell anyone I meet my real name, or my real occupation, so, everyone is equally in the dark on that. I also tend to keep the same idiot friends around me who love this “game” we play who can create the biggest and most creative lie every time we go out. And no, it’s not insensitive to do this to people because none of us are single and we’re not going home with these filthy women.
During an a-typcial night of a overly-stimulated conversation with a staggering amount of decent looking women, I stumbled across a very small woman. She was not a legal midget, so, I can’t get in trouble, but she was SHORT. (And not this attractive – as pictured below).
After an ill-advised 10th beer (Michelob Ultra, the Banana keeps himself as fit as possible when imbibing), I shouted, “Oh Christ, that girl is literally a toddler.” Thinking she couldn’t hear me from all the way down there, she immediately turned and with a snarl of evil on her face stated, “DID YOU JUST CALL ME A TODDLER?”
Now, old me would have cowered in a corner and apologized up and down for my off color remark. But new me (and not actually me, cause I’m a scumbag), a me basking in the refreshing attitude that stems from my friends successfully verbally berating women up and down South Boston, I stood my ground.
“Yup, called you a toddler. You’re short, just pointing out legitimate facts.” With my undies officially bunched and my throat in a knot, she replied, “Oh my god, I love you so much.” And proceeded to hug me tighter than my children do when I let them use the iPad.
How the fuck did that work? I don’t know. My friends think that insulting a woman to the degree in which the difference between an insult and a legitimate compliment is about a cunt hair of a difference – so they must be on to something.
In closing, if you’re going out next weekend, or like me, on most weeknights after work, make sure to bring your bag of hastily thrown together insults for women – joking of course. But am I?