I have a weird friend. I don’t know her name. I guess “friend” might be a slight overstatement. She is a ginger with extremely curly hair. I’m sure you can picture all the freckles. My friend Steve calls people with freckles “salami faces.” Back when Lindsay Lohan had meat on her bones I thought she was hot. I told Steve I thought she was hot. He shook his head no and reminded me that Lindsay Lohan is a salami face.
My weird salami-faced friend is the person who handles the takeout orders at the Tex Mex-style chain restaurant by my house called On the Border. (I don’t understand why they’d name the restaurant that since it is not on the border of anything.) (Oh. Is it a Mexico reference? If so, disregard the last aside.)
Once, on Cinco de Mayo, they did over $100,000 in business. They have a plaque that lets everyone know they did over $100,000 in business in one day right by the front door. I find the plaque rude because most of the patrons there and myself are lower middle class at best. It takes us a number of years to make $100,000. You can understand why it would be hard to like someone who brags about making $100,000 in one day. I have considered pissing on the plaque, but it is mounted rather high on the wall and I don’t know if I can pee that far up.
The young salami-faced ginger with the small butt who handles the takeout orders has become my “Let’s Talk About Babies” friend because one time when I called my order in I couldn’t remember if my wife was allowed to eat the mahimahi tacos or the breaded-other-fish tacos because of her breast-feeding. I told the girl I had to call her back after I clarified because “I don’t want On the Border to ruin my wife’s breasts.” She laughed. When I called back after speaking to my wife and being told for the thousandth time that mahimahi is no bueno for babyface, I reintroduced myself as the “fish-breast guy” when she answered. I also called myself that when I entered the restaurant. She liked that. Because she was young. And I know how to talk to young people. I use smaller words.
I wanted to get a margarita while I waited for my breast fish. Salami Face wanted a baby. Right then and there. I wasn’t quite sure if we were making small talk or if she was asking me to inseminate her. She said that she tried to get her last boyfriend to get her pregnant without telling him because she “REALLY WANTS A BABY ALREADY!” Her eyes got very big and crazy when she said those words. She didn’t look older than 21. She said she hoped 2010 would be her year to a) find a man, b) get married, c) have a baby, and d) go to Hawaii. I told her I hoped 2010 would bring me my wife’s tacos so I could go home.
Last week I ordered my wife more tacos. Not vaginas! Grow up! Where would you even order those from? I didn’t know it was Salami Face who took my order on the phone, but when I went to pick up my not-vaginas she remembered me instantly. I smiled and said, “Breast fish,” because those two words summed up our shared moment. She giggled because picturing fish with tits is funny. She asked how the baby was doing and I said it’s rough at the moment because he’s teething and in a lot of pain. She told me that on the TV show Roseanne, John Goodman’s character “gave their teething baby a frozen waffle to suck on. You should try that.”
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