Unclench, girl... UNCLENCH!!

Suffice to say I sounded a bit testy yesterday. Mademoiselle Mel took exception to my bumper sticker comment (I knew I could count on her to get her hackles up-- we've discussed her bumper sticker before & that fact that we voted the same way ;-). But you'll find as this blog grows that some days I'll be in a Dave Barry mode and you'll be glad to kick back & read my loony ramblings. Then... there are days like YESTERDAY. If you'll tolerate my occasional pontificating, I'll try to reward you with some giggles now and then, o.k.? O.k.

How about I tell you how I earned the nickname Hot Biscuit?

Fifteen years ago I was living in Westchester County, NY working as a nanny for two small kiddos (I'll share those stories later). After months of working 12-hour days Mon-Fri, I soon fell in the habit of doing weekend getaways to Washington DC (a quick 3-hour trip via Amtrak) to visit friends. The only sour note to these trips was my growing awareness that my friends (Barb & Kevin) were trying to pair me up with another mutual friend of ours. Kids, this man is just about the LAST man I would ever be interested in knowing that way, and I tried repeatedly to indicate that I was NOT interested in "getting to know him better" and that they should cease and desist.

After a number of visits B & K announced that we just had to go to a local restaurant that served unlimited fresh baked biscuits & salad with their meals. Being a huge fan of fresh biscuits, I agreed and we set out for the restaurant, creepy friend in tow.

• First mistake: trying to dine there (a popular eatery) on a Friday evening.
• Second problem: opting to wait when the hostess told us we'd have a 45-60 minute wait.
  
• Third crisis: it was nearly 25 minutes after being seated before they took drink orders.
• Fourth gripe: took another 20 just to get said drinks
• Fifth complaint: after waiting nearly 2 hours, the waiter told us they'd burned the last batch of biscuits & it would be another 20 before we got any.

You do the math. Two hour wait + empty belly + two beers + creepy suitor = BAD FRIGGIN' MOOD. By the time the smarmy waiter finally brought us biscuits, we were ready to fall on them like manna from heaven. Creepy dude was brandishing his knife, ready to slap butter, and when I attempted to reach for the long-awaited biscuits he pretended to slash at my hand. My final mistake was throwing down MY like-wielded knife, staring him in the eye and trumpeting, "What are ya gonna do with that thing... SPREAD ME TO DEATH???"

My horrified expression, Creepy's scarlet face, the passing waiter's startled snort and B & K's smothered embarrassment was just too much, and I was branded "Hot Biscuit" on the spot.