As I sit inside this charming cafe listening to the sound of Jack Johnson’s “Banana Pancakes” I’m reminded of words my old baseball coach used to tell me.
“Kennedy get your fucking pansy ass up from that patch of dandelions. I didn’t leave work two hours early for this. I didn’t come here to waste my fucking time.”
“Ok Dad! Love you!”
Those old words still ring so true. I didn’t come here to waste my fucking time. My baseball coach/dad really was a wise man.
And that’s what Michelle needs to realize: I’m not here to waste my time. I’m not here to play baseball games. I’m ready for love and I’m ready to take the leap. Until she responds to my text about virtual reality masks, wasting my time is EXACTLY what I will be doing.
You hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep you
From doing what you’re supposed to
We really did have a good time the other night. She might have been a little dismayed that I only ordered cranberry juice and cornbread at dinner. And yes, I admit it, I did go apeshit on that waitress. Who puts their thumb over the lid of the glass? Are you fucking insane? If I wanted to drink your thumb I would have ordered your thumb and not a cranberry juice with 5 limes on the side.
Waking up too early
Maybe we could sleep in
I’ll make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it’s the weekend now
Why am I always trying to be the “nice guy”? Being a nice guy gets you absolutely nowhere. Showing Michelle how generous I am by tipping a gas station attendant $35 gets you absolutely nowhere. I even tried showing her that I’m my own man and I can easily be a worthwhile provider for her when I refused to use the GPS to get to the restaurant 30 minutes outside of town. Real men use maps of Northwestern Illinois from 1972. Real men don’t get directional advice from the internet. Real men get all of their directional needs from gas station attendants.
But just maybe, laka ukelele
Mama made a baby
Really don’t mind the breakfast
Cause you’re my little lady
Right after I gave the waitress my card to pay for the cornbread and cranberry juice I realized I only had $37 to my name before I tipped that gas station attendant $35. Was $2 enough to cover 5 orders of cornbread and 3 cranberry-limes? When I saw the waitress’s face as she was returning with the check I knew that it wasn’t.
Lady, lady, love me
Cause I love to lay here lazy
We could close the curtains
Pretend like there’s no world outside
Oh wait, a text!!
Son of a bitch it’s just my mom.
“Honey we’re worried about you”