Mustard Is Acceptable

“What’s the best condiment?”

In my mind I was thinking ketchup.

“If you pick ketchup, you’re a fucking chump.”

Thank god he wasn’t asking me. I would’ve definitely picked ketchup.

“Mustard is acceptable.”

I mean, I think mustard is probably the worst of the condiments.

But I also would’ve picked ketchup, so what the fuck do I know.

Sometimes, when I’m meeting GBFF…WHTBS for a beer (or two…the two is probably why I couldn’t get my skirt up over my ever-expanding hips yesterday morning…), I show up a little early to read a bit before he gets there.

And every now and then, I forget that I even have a book in my hand. Because what is happening near me is so much better.

“And then you’ve got your fish sauce.”

So. Much. Better.

“What’s that made out of?”

“Fish…”

I love these guys. So much.

“Then you go back to the colonial days, and you’ve got your mushroom ketchup.”

This dude was schooling the hell out of his friend. I was just thankful I’d opted to sit outside. To witness this. And transcribe it, via text, to GBFF.

It was colder than I’d realized. And I immediately wanted to go back inside.

But obviously I couldn’t just abandon this conversation…

“I don’t know why we haven’t brought that back yet. With all the fine dining around here.”

I’m not sure where all the fine dining around here actually is. But again. Ketchup. Fucking chump. I don’t know shit.

“So, how do you feel about being a futuristic person now that it’s 2020?”

Well, that shifted quickly.

And here is where I started to think maybe I’d stumbled upon a Kate & Leopold type situation. Like, maybe quiet dude is actually from the past. Or the future. Or maybe another planet?

I got excited.

Clearly this was some Men In Black type shit.

“I’m gonna change my name to Bleep Blorp.”

Or maybe they’re just really high.

Also, I’m getting really cold. But obviously I can’t go inside yet. I need Bleep Blorp to tell me what the future is like.

“I can’t wait to get a cyber truck. I’ve been saving up for it. I’m gonna get a cyber truck and gnarly space sunglasses.”

Cyber trucks. Of course.

It’s clear he’s the alpha, though. The alpha gets to dictate which condiment choices make you a fucking chump. And he gets the cyber truck.

The rest of us just get cyber corollas. And chump ketchup. I guess.

“You know what we should do?”

Ok. This was the chick that had been sitting silently while alpha and submissive debated condiments and futuristic eyewear.

Up to that point, I thought she’d just been as enthralled as I was with this conversation. And didn’t want to disrupt the flow of it.

Turns out, she was just waiting for her moment to jump in. And present her plan. That she’d clearly been formulating for months.

“We should all become mascots.”

Fuck yes.

“Fuck yes!”

“Is there any money in that?”

Absolutely not.

“Absolutely not…”

I love her as much as I love them.

“Not in sports mascoting. But there are other kinds of mascots out there.”

And here is where I thought maybe the conversation was gonna take a more boring turn. And I was starting to shiver. So I got up.

“Wait. Are you a low key furry?”

Fuck. I’m already up. And walking towards the door. I can’t just go sit back down.

But also I clearly can’t not know. So I paused. And pretended to read a text…

“No. I’m just normal.”

Damn.

And it was at that point that I walked away from the best conversation I’ve ever experienced.

And went inside.

To wait for GBFF…WHTBS.

Who would eventually show up and upend a 45-year belief system. In under two hours.

Forcing me to rethink every fucking relationship I’ve ever had.

But it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine.

Because there are people like Bleep Blorp in the world.

If you ever need to find me, I’m gonna be sitting at a picnic table at Big Lick. Waiting for my people to return. And make me one of them.