Chooch got some sweet loot at his zombie party yesterday, including a remote control zombie and a Leatherface figurine, which he’s been playing with all day. He even took them with us to King’s for breakfast, where he and Bill (who, along with Jessi, was visiting from Michigan) raucously fought with them in our booth. Jessi and I were hungover from blackberry Manischevitz, but I wondered how much of our headaches were brought on from all the smiling we did after the Red Wings were eliminated from the Stanley Cup playoffs last night.
While at King’s, we also saw a woman in a camo jacket (“I literally can’t see her from the waist up,” Jessi marveled. “It really works.”), a senile old man seemingly drunk from communion wine (Chooch told him he doesn’t have a mom), two dickhead fathers, and an old woman with Beethoven hair who wished us all a happy mother’s day (Bill was the only one who said thanks).
And our waitress, Jodie, admitted to me that she only just recently watched Dirty Dancing. This was after she served Jessi her “eggs Benny,” and said it in a way that made me believe it was an inside joke between them and it made me jealous! I’m very possessive of Jessi.
And my waitresses.
Bill and Jessi have since departed for home, and Henry and I are en route to Buttermilk Falls with a sleeping zombie in the backseat.
Happy Mother’s Day!