Yesterday I drove to the restaurant in the midst of April’s first snow. Spring Schming, this is Cleveland, and it was damn cold outside. So you can imagine my surprise when, around six pm, a group of teenage girls walked in wearing mini skirts barely covering their asses, spaghetti-strap tank tops, and high heeled sandals. No coats. On any of them. Just as I was commenting on the fact that my parents would never have let me out of the house dressed like that, cold weather or not, I caught a glimpse of a mother with those girls. She was wearing a halter top and hot pink spiked heels. She really shouldn’t have, being neither a MILF, Stiffler’s mom, or Stacey’s mom for that matter.

A second group of jail bait clones walked in the door, and just as I was trying to figure out what sort of April Fools’ joke was being played on our drooling, short-of breath male servers, someone whispered something in my ear that helped everything fall into place.

Ah yes, Brittany Spears is in town. Lovely.

Now, imagine for a moment what could possibly be worse than waiting on a bunch of scantily clad glittery teeny-boppers all eagerly anticipating pop’s porno princess simulate sex on stage? Well, yes, waiting on their mothers who were almost as (if not more) obnoxious than their goose-pimpled, gum-chewing offspring was not as enjoyable as one might hope. And yes, thankfully I am a female and therefore not privy to the flirting, ass-grabbing (no, I’m not kidding), and physical critique that the male servers were subjected to. But seriously, what do you think could be worse than waiting on the little brats?

Try waiting on them after they’ve discovered, through the ring of various colored cell-phones and the beep of text-messages, that, OH MY GAAWWWDD! The show was CANCELLED! How could she DO this? Is this some sort of April Fools joke?

I wish it had been, my friends. There was no joke, so rather than usher them out of our restaurant as quickly as possible and try to wipe away the memory, we had to deal with them as they planted their barely-concealed tushes into our booths, pouted their super-shiny Bonne Belle lips, shed tears, ate ice cream, and got even more obnoxious by the minute. No, I didn’t think it was possible either. Yes, I’m still reeling.

On a different note, I’d like to know how in the world men think a line like, “Baby, when are you going to go out with me? I’ll spend my whole pay check on you” would make a girl swoon.

Err…umm…or how about…

“Mmmmm…you have such a juicy booty.”

Or…

“You smell so good I just want to sop you up with a biscuit.”

What? That’s just disgusting! I’m starting to blame women for these train wrecks because someone, somewhere was sucked in by a line like that and now we all have to pay for it.

At this point, if a normal, nice guy were to even so much as ask to borrow my lighter I’ll probably flare up, call him an obscenity, stomp on his foot, and stomp off.

And back to the stomping, who the hell wears five inch heels to a frigging concert? I do go to relatively tame shows from time to time, however there is usually a lot of walking from parking lot to venue, not to mention standing and dancing, and crowds with people who are less than worried about the fact that my open toed sandals are not meant to be stepped on. The majority of the concerts I go to? Well, let’s just say that in an outfit like that I’d be carted off on a stretcher before the opening act left the stage.

And on a site note, chewed-up cell phones aside, I’d be a much more productive person, not to mention an early riser, if it weren’t for my damn dogs. On cold snowy mornings, with those floppy ears and those Come-Pet-Me expressions, it’s all but impossible to drag myself out of bed. They’re too damn cute.

My uncharacteristic social behavior continues this week. I just contacted a friend of mine from college that I haven’t seen in months. Another good friend of ours that I haven’t seen in years in finally home from the military so we’ll be going out on Saturday night. I plan to drink and dance like I did when I was a crazy college student, and I can’t wait.