So the other day, I'm at work. It's a particularly good day. I'm feeling pretty good about myself. I got the most amazing letters of recommendattion from the Assistant State's Attorney's who I work for. I got a lot done. I felt very accomplished all in all. And I felt kind of cool. And like I belonged there. Very comfortable. As I walk to my car at the end of the day, I admit it, I was strutting a little. Until I stepped in my car and realized I was wearing two different shoes. One brown and one black. That's really all I can say about that.
On my way home, I stop at the market to get something for dinner. I go up to the guy at the butcher counter, and ask for a filet mignon. The butcher sort of looks at me like he wants to flirt a little. Which I am not opposed to. It's totally fine. Harmless. He asks me which one I wanted. I tell him a small one because it's just for me. His facial expression changed. And before he could stop himself, he said "Awww. That's so......sad" EXCUSE ME? SAD?
I didn't know quite what to say. Was it sad? Or did he mean I am sad, like as in pathetic? I said something like "Yeah... well... long day, mumble mumble mumble" and hoped the discussion would be over with Mr. Meat. But he continues by introducing himself to me and offering to COME OVER AFTER HIS SHIFT TO SHARE THE FILET WITH ME!!! I am totally not kidding. And neither was he. I look at him with the most withering, demeaning, "I-am-so-much-better-than-you" stare I could possibly muster up, and said to him "what's SAD is that you think you're good enough to even TALK to me" and I grabbed my filet and left. Yes, it was a mean thing to say. But screw it!
So a girl is only entitled to eat filet mignon when she has a significant other to share it with? The rest of us just have to eat ground llama? Fuck you, Meat Guy.
Then I went home, and made my filet, and ate it, more aware than ever of the fact that I was eating it alone.