How to Fight an 80-Year-Old Man

Typically, I have an ultra soft spot for old men. They remind me of my grandfathers who are no longer around and I’m just mushy over them. Well, no more.

I was recently at a roadhouse restaurant, catching up with my Strawberry Martini partner-in-crime, G (click here to read about our shenanigans).  It was a catch-up kind of night because she’s a hard-working mama of a seven-month-old, so it was a treat to have some girl time and good, loud laughs.  And when I say laughs, I mean the kind that get you into an almost brawl with a grouchy 80-year-old man.

Who me, loud?

Who me, loud?

To set the scene, here is what caution hangs on the wall of the restaurant:

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Peanuts on the floor, loud music playing.

Jukebox country music blaring through the speakers, a full dining room of chit chatting eaters and bustling servers running back and forth from guests to the kitchen surrounded our girl talking table.

G showed me this picture of little baby M and her big sis, B. Bob and I busted out laughing.

Cutest bunnies in Nashville.

Cutest bunnies in Nashville.

Now, I don’t have the daintiest laugh in the world. It doesn’t necessarily make ears bleed but it did set off a silent alarm once. Quiet just isn’t in my nature and most of my laughs are the big belly kind.

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Trying to compete with the jukebox.

Well, my loudness over the funny bunny picture really pissed off an ancient (I can say this because he was f’ing with me) diner in the booth behind G.  After my outburst, he turned around and mocked my laugh right in G’s ear.  I was dumbfounded for a fraction of a second, then all I could say to G was, “Seriously? Did that seriously just happen? Seriously?”

Typically non-confrontational, always has something sweet to say G got mad. Like mom mad.  Nobody mocks her noisy CBXB! She got up and went to the old asshole’s side and said, “Sir I apologize if we offended you but my girlfriend and I are just having fun and catching up.”

Mom'd out!

Don’t mess with this chick or she’ll Mom out!

He looked up at her angelic face and shouted, “YOU INTERRUPTED MY MEAL!” while stabbing his steak knife into the slab of meat on his plate (and might I again remind you this is a casual, casual, casual, loud restaurant).  She responded with something like, “I’m sorry you don’t know how to have a good time,” and returned to her seat where she turned her volume up while commenting to me how rude people can be.

Shame on you!

Shame on you, Antique Boy!

The furious former young man called a manager to his table, asked for to-go boxes and basically made a scene as if I had just punched him in the face (which isn’t where my first choice of body violence would have occurred on this son of a bitch). While he was leaving, his silent wife was cowered behind him, carrying both of their meals…poor lady.

I thought maybe I had overreacted until white-haired, wrinkly man with what looked like a rat’s nest on top of his head (the kind you get from sleeping on the same side of the pillow for 29,219 days while never once combing (or washing) your hair – ever) said, “I’m never coming back here again.” All I could think to say was, “Good riddance.”

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Did I do that?

I think that this restaurant should give G and I free wine and appetizers whenever we return due to the fact that we saved the establishment from this pesky, bothersome, never satisfied, stick-in-the-mud raisin from ever returning again.

You’re welcome, roadhouse.

CBXB and G

CBXB!