That Look Means You're Lucky I Don't Have Heat Vision

A story from a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . . .

On the recommendation of the sneaky liar, while in South Beach my friends and I sought out The Tides Hotel. The joint is well known for it's signature cocktails - martini's are just one of them. This is why we decided to attend (and what could be a better reason than martini's with Popsicles?) We sought, we found, we ordered . . . . .

However, upon our arrival and being that this hotel is a five-star joint, I decided to cover myself (it's great that you can walk anywhere in your swim gear in South Beach Miami and welcomed with open arms into any place; I absolutely love that, but that doesn't mean you. . . . errr. . . . um . . . . I should). So, I politely put on my workout t-shirt with my workout capri's. I consider it a nice t-shirt. It's from Pearl Izumi; not a battered, sweat filled, hole ridden, smelly cotton shirt you may find me wearing while working in our yard laying 11 pallets of sod. So, in what I assume is a decent shirt, I sit outside waiting for our drinks as well as my friends to join me from their restroom break.

As I wait, I am doing the people watch thing. I am having fun at gazing at the people's walking by, playing beach volleyball, driving in their Bentley's, dancing and basically being beach individuals. I am also sitting in what someone must consider a stylish piece of furniture. It is leather with a rounded top. It's new and fabulous, just like me. Or so I thought. Because as I was sitting there, a group of six well-muscled men walked by. One of these men spotted me sitting alone and turned to his friends, pointed at me while saying loudly enough, "Look dawg. . . Don't she be looking just like the Chucky Cheese mouse?" And he then started laughing uncontrollably.

vs

I sat there for a moment churning this around in my little head and realized that, yes, he was talking about me.

. . . Um. [blink blink] . . .

*crickets chirping*

WHAT? ? ? ! IlookliketheChuckyCheesemouse?!

I've been called many things, for example, a male German Soccer player, but the Cheese Mouse, really? So, um. Ow. Could the earth just open up and swallow me whole or better yet lend a giant stabbing spork? I didn't feel so fabulous. My friends may think I get offended when it comes to me and, well, they're right. I do. I was offended, but too taken aback to react. I can think of all the snarky responses now, but I was completely and utterly silenced into embarrassment by a complete stranger then.

I guess my one iota of saving grace, if there was any at all, was the fact that his friend, who apparently was the leader of the muscle gang, turned and took a slight uninterested look at me and responded, "naw dawg" while continuing on with his casual stroll; minions in tow.

I am so going as a cat this year for Halloween.