No Fat Chicks

Scruffy and I went out to lunch the other day. Thankfully, there was no Fergie on the radio. Instead, there was a genuinely distressed guy at the table next to us who was bearing his tortured soul to his friend. We overheard most of it. It went a little something like this:

"OK, so there's this lady I work with, [name], who is just FAT, you know? She's not just a little porky, she's FAT! (arms spread wide to demonstrate, face wrinkled in disgust)

"Well, we were at the company picnic, and I was just sitting there. Wasn't talking to anyone, just sitting. And my wife started in on me... 'Are you staring at her? Why are you staring at her?!?' I looked, and there was [name], and my wife thought I was staring at her!

"I told her I wasn't staring and she didn't believe me! She's all upset, saying, 'I didn't know you liked them fat!' And I'm desperate, telling her, 'Honey, how could you possibly think I'd find *that* attractive?

"I eventually talked her down and she stopped yelling at me, but every now and then she still gives me a sideways look, like she doesn't quite believe me. My wife thinks I like fat chicks!"

He slumped back in his seat, a sad little "What in the world am I gonna do now?" look on his face. The poor guy was at the end of his rope.

As for me, I was about to turn blue with the effort of not laughing. Scruffy kept his composure better than I did, but we both lost it after they left.

I gotta say, the lunchtime entertainment got a LOT better once that dang Fergie song went off the radio.