Please be advised...the following post IS NOT about poker.
After suffering through a 10-day illness, I was feeling like I could keep my phlegm in control just long enough to get out of the house and be social. Apparently, a trip to my local Indian Restaurant was in order.
On a sidenote, why don't more Caucasians enjoy Indian food? Are they unduly prejudiced or do they sincerely dislike the rich, exotic dishes so deliciously prepared by our Hindu friends? Both my current boss and my future wife won't touch the stuff, which is terribly sad. What gives?
Anyway, after being escorted to my table, I prepared to order my favorite, lamb vindaloo. Unexpectedly, my casual glance through the menu was interrupted by a screaming brat at the table next to me. Fucking kids. Of course, the three women at the same table completely ignored the child and carried on their conversation. Given that two of the women looked similar and the third was considerably older, I took this to be a mother/daughter/daughter/grandchild outing. I contemplated saying something when the oldest woman grabbed her throat and began speaking through an artificial voicebox. However, the sound coming out of this woman's throat/mouth area was horrible. It sounded like a drowning bullfrog...and this old hag was a talker. Seriously, she wouldn't shut up and she must have had the volume on her larynx box (or whatever you call the fucking thing) turned up to 11.
I know, I know. I should feel sorry for her...but I couldn't notice that when both of her daughters spoke, they clearly had that I've-smoked-four-packs-of-camel-unfiltereds-since-I-was-twelve raspiness. Like mother, like daughters.
Even worse, they all dressed and looked like something out of The Sopranos. I couldn't help but think of Lorraine Bracco's line from Goodfellas: "They (the mobsters wives) didn't look very good either. Their clothes were cheap and thrown together. And they looked sort of beaten up." In particular, Grandma had on these awful sunglasses that jiggled on her head every time she grabbed her throat to let loose with that awful mechanized voice. I swear to God, one of the daughters even used the words stugotts as a punchline to a joke that caused them all to go into a rasping, coughing fit.
Fortunately, when my meal arrived, they got up to leave...but they must have been regulars because they stopped at every table to say something..to everybody. At one table, the old hag gargled, "yeah, I got cancer from smoking too much and they had to take out my voicebox."
I may never be able to eat Indian food again.
Damn you, Smoke Hag. Damn you.