Last night I decided to class my ass up a bit and went to a wine and cheese bar. After getting over the initial shock that a wine and cheese bar sells only wine and cheese, I went with a very delicious sounding glass of Pinot Grigio that had notes of light citrus and delicate floral aromas that were complemented by hints of tropical fruit flavors. It was also the cheapest. I sat in a leather wing back chair with my smoking jacket on enjoying the company of good friends and listening to the jazz music that played softly over head. The candles cast a pale warm glow across the room and the Christmas tree in the corner made the place feel like a second kind of home. The smell of cured meets and savory crackers filled my nose and the clinking of wine glasses was oh so comfortable. Then another sound erupted that was incongruous with the atmosphere. The sound was that of a little girl who was screaming with wonder at the Christmas tree that only moments ago had seemed so comforting. “What the hell is a little girl doing in a bar?” I hissed to a friend. I spun my head around to see where the parent of this wayward tot was and I saw her sitting at a table holding another child. Now there were two things ruining my night; a little girl and a little boy. No, this was not happening. I went to this wine bar to be sophisticated and shit, not irritated and shit. The little girl started running towards our end of the room. I quickly shot a look that I thought would effectively create an invisible wall around my friends, but this little girl crashed through my barrier and sat on the step next to us. Of course she screamed as she ran. The mother got up and rushed over to the brat. I eagerly anticipated seeing a swat on the butt or a slap on the wrist to teach this kid a lesson. But no. The mother simply said, “No, no we don’t want to bother these other people, sweetie.” Newsflash, Mom: too late. I’m bothered. The mother then took the little girl by both hands and spun her around while the little girl laughed. And screamed. Then the little boy wanted a turn. What the fuck is wrong with people? Do they not see I am trying to be all mature and cultured? I’m sittin‘ in a freakin‘ wine bar for cryin‘ out loud. Jesus H. Christ.
The parents let the kids play as they finished their glasses of wine. Meanwhile, I had blood dripping out of my ears from listening to the kids scream with laughter at whatever the fuck makes a four year old scream with laughter. More than once I saw mom get up and join in on the fun making the kids even louder. It was simply not possible for me to give them an eye that was any stinkier than the one I was giving them. After about 15 minutes, I noticed that they asked for the check. Either, it was the kids bedtime or the parents finally realized that their darling children were annoying the fuck out of everyone else in the bar. After they left, I readjusted my face from the scowl and let my eyes resolve back to their natural state of bleary and bloodshot. Finally, I could get all sophisticated. I pulled out my pipe and put my feet up on the ottoman ready to enjoy my night of being civilized. I retied my ascot and ordered my second glass of wine, but this time I didn’t get the cheapest one. I got the second cheapest one. ‘Cause I’m sophisticated and shit.