hitting on the boss for dummies.

14 May

Harry really deserves a lot of credit for being married to me. Other than being incredibly hot and smarter-than-your-average brainiac, I’m quite a handful. For example, I’m a bitch and I don’t shower everyday and I complain about how fat I am while I’m eating chocolate cake with hot fudge and a twix bar on top of it and when he’s giving me a back massage I always have to tell him exactly where to rub harder and it annoys the shit out of him. (When I read him this paragraph he also asked me to add that I’m very very needy.)

The thing is, I hide all of this really really well, especially on days that I’ve taken my mom’s advice and put on makeup. Wearing red lipstick automatically puts you in a terrific mood and makes you feel vivacious and irresistible. Plus I wear all black most of the time so people don’t recognize that I’m pretty much a competitive eater. And as we’ve discussed in the past, I wear short skirts so I can get culinary assistance on my diets from the Spanish guys. Add these things to the fact that I’m pretty much not aging, and the result is that I get hit on quite a bit.

Usually it’s a customer, like perhaps the guy whose wife had her Baby Shower at the restaurant and now she’s pregnant again and “she’s a psycho bitch” and suddenly he’s getting takeout 3 days a week. Or the desperate househusband who rushes rushes rushes out of the car with his little kid and makes her park it so he can get a few alone minutes with you. Or the shy father and young adult team that comes to the restaurant whenever the mom/wife is on a spa weekend and hams it up with you for an hour or two.

Sometimes it’s an employee. I mean, what do they care if Harry is way bigger than most of them and can probably kick their asses and fire them all in one pop? I’M ENCHANTING. Examples of employees who may have crossed the line are Charlie, who is constantly talking about my boobs and how fabulous my outfit is and Nicole, who grabbed my vagina today. Ok fine she knocked into me and it was obviously a misplaced hand but I’m still counting it. Newest on this elite list is the bartender at My Mom’s Place. He’s constantly telling Harry how cute I am and that he’d like to take me on a date, and then just tonight he sent me a nearly pornographic photo via text message.

You should have seen what it looked like before I edited it on instagram… In actuality, this bartender, whose name I’ll leave out to keep him anonymous, isn’t really hitting on me, because you’d have to be a fool to ask a girl’s husband to set you guys up on a date. He’s actually just obsessed with my blog, and is attempting all sorts of antics to get his picture in it. Well played, my friend. Well played. Or maybe he’s really clever and is somehow going to get Harry to give me away as though I were a used paperback, and that would be really fucked up/brilliant.

When I asked Harry tonight if it bothers him that the bartender is totally and completely obsessed with my beauty and wit, he responded the way that any normal husband would in this situation. “No.” Way to be confident, hubby. “But it’s pretty fucked up how much he flirts with your mom.”

If you (this is a generalization, but excludes the bartender, because I will NOT play second fiddle to my mom) do decide to hit on me, here are some things you should know:

  1. Complimenting my taste in music will score you many many points off the bat.
  2. You will lose these points if you cannot follow-up the compliment without some sort of musical knowledge.
  3. You will gain points if you listen to country music, particularly Rascal Flatts and Billy Currington and Brad Paisley.
  4. There will be no touching of any kind.
  5. I accept gifts of all brands and sizes. Preferably something made of chocolate that Harry and I can split for dessert.
  6. If you text message me photos of yourself (how do you even have my phone number?) I will post them on my blog. In the future I will use a less flattering filter on my instagram.
  7. You cannot buy me a drink at my own restaurant. First of all, I don’t drink on the job, and second you can’t buy me something I already bought. Really doesn’t count.
  8. If you are an employee, hitting on me will do absolutely nothing for your job security, when you’ll get to go home or number of kids that get sat in your station.
  9. Also if you’re an employee, hitting on me does not excuse you from being a team player or learning which of our menu items can be made gluten free (another night…).
  10. Admit to me that you read my blog. Stop being such a tough guy.
  11. Don’t do it by way of my husband unless you want him to hate you and make your life a living hell. Because hitting on your boss in my world is the same as hitting on your boss’s wife. Bad move X 100.

It’s probably super annoying to be Harry and have to deal with my antics. He watches it from the window and puts up with it everyday (I’m exaggerating. I clearly don’t wear makeup everyday, not even ever other day and this getting hit on thing only happens with the makeup and when I’m not being a cranky ass so let’s say roughly once a week, maybe 3 times a month). Regardless, he puts up with it. And then he puts up with the “other” me – no makeup, elastic waist pants, double chin, greasy hair and face, cranky for the first 8 hours of the day.

Guy’s a fucking saint.

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