Have you ever have one of those moments where you really would have been better off just putting your foot in your mouth? I’m talking about the sock, shoe, dog poop that’s on the bottom; everything, directly into your mouth. I had the displeasure of one of those very moments this week.
A little backstory first…
My wife and I were going on a day adventure. She and I were going to travel two hours out of state to do something that we’ve talked about doing for years but never done: snow tubing. With our clothes packed and loaded up for playing in that fake snow, we headed out. About an hour and a half into the trip, my wife informed me that the trip wasn’t two hours as I had anticipated...it was three hours.
This was a surprise to me. I was honorary for ten minutes and got over it. Once we were tubing down the mountain, that extra hour would be lost from my memory; so, no harm no foul. After three hours, confusing one-way streets, and several winding mountain turns, we arrived at our destination: Moonshine Mountain.
From the road it was clear to see that every family had the same holiday idea as us. The place was packed. As us country folk say, you couldn’t stir that place with a stick. The line to register was out the door. The line up the mountain was longer than the eye could see. After three hours in the car, we were determined to go snow tubing.
I’m going to be brief here for my sake, as to not relieve those raw emotions again.
The wait was four hours to tube. We found this out right before buying our tickets. Could we have stayed and went tubing? Maybe. Would we be leaving our babysitter out to dry with two crazy kiddos fighting sleep? You betcha. The executive decision was made to back out and try again another time. Not wanting to turn around and drive the two, ahem three, hours back immediately, we made a stop at a local downtown pub for a snack.
Downtown was packed too. Luckily for us, the particular pub that we chose (which shall remain nameless for future purposes) was not packed at all. We walked right in, took a spot at the bar, and placed our order with the waitress. As we sat there laughing over our adventure, joking around about waiting four hours to tube; I started feeling better. Laughter will do that. Sitting there with my beautiful bride, giggling at ourselves improved our mood. I had started feeling good.
The door to the pub opened. I guess the lack of people in the pub led everyone to turn and look to see who was entering the fine establishment. It was a brown-haired lady, in a long tan coat, with a cat stretched across her shoulders. Yes you read correctly. A lady, tan trench coat, with a cat (on a leash) stretched across her shoulders. Not only was the cat on her back; but, the cat wore a crocheted outfit. She walked through the door and continued the length of the restaurant out of sight.
I assumed she was just walking through.
As she left, I met the eyes of one of the cooks who just happen to be sitting out in the lounge with the other guests. I smiled and asked him this one question.
“Was that your girlfriend with the cat?”
He looked confused. His buddy that was sitting across from him laughed out loud, stood up from his seat, and walked toward the back of the restaurant. After a minute, the guy I joked with raised his eyebrows, laughed and followed his coworker to the kitchen.
After our food arrived, my wife whispered that someone was standing at the registar behind us. It was the cat lady. Only, it wasn’t a lady.
It was a long, brown-haired dude. The guy wore the same jacket that the lady had worn who walked through earlier. The only thing missing was the cat with the crocheted sweater. It was a guy. It was a guy the whole time! My wife and I surmised, while eating our potato skins, that he must either work at the pub or, possibly, own it! The entire time we were eating, he stood around the register, talking with the waitress and other guys that worked there.
In reality, the guys that I had joked with most likely went back and told him what I said. Could he have been hanging out in the front of the restaurant sizing up the punk that called him a girl? Oh yeah. You know as well as I do that those guys told him that I thought he was a girl and that I joked about the cat on his shoulders. He eventually made his way to the back of the restaurant.
I debated on apologizing...but never did. In an executive decision, my wife and I decided to act like nothing ever happened. We paid our bill and made our way downtown to visit some local shops. When the shopping was done we loaded up in the car and made the two, ahem three, hour drive back home.
So what’s the moral of the story? I think there are several things to be learned from this encounter.
Don’t joke about women or men wearing cats on their shoulders, even if their cat is wearing a crocheted sweater.
Only joke about other people with people you know. Joking with a stranger could lead to cringe moments.
Maybe don’t joke about people at all. But c’mon...a trip to Walmart isn’t going to be complete without poking fun at someone you see. (Don’t act like you don’t laugh at some people at Walmart.)
Finally, wait and go snow tubing on a day when the entire world is not out of school and work.