I had my babysitter stay for dinner tonight so that I could engage in adult conversation other than that of my psychiatrist who all of a sudden wants to change my medication. He said, “You’ll know when you’ve hit the right dose of this new stuff.”
I said, “Oh, really?”
He answered, “Yeah, like, if you feel like you want to kill anyone, then you need to cut back a little.”
“Oh,” I said. “I like that standard.”
My babysitter’s Peruvian boyfriend picked her up a little after dinner to take her to a dance club, but before I would let them get away I lamented the fact that instead of getting all the hatemail for the retard sandwiches like I thought I was going to get, I instead got BUTTLOADS of hatemail for the comment I made about having Korean for dinner, hatemail saying that because of my insensitivity to Asian culture I would thus be dispensed from the blogroll, even though I once lived with six Koreans right after I got out of college who used to tease me all the time that they were adding dog meat to the stir fry they sometimes made for dinner.
The Peruvian boyfriend asked what I had said and I told him that I made a reference to eating Bo for dinner, and he said, “Did you know Peruvians eat guinea pigs?”
“Have you ever eaten a guinea pig?” I didn’t believe him.
“Was it good?”
“Kinda tasted like chicken.”
“Do you mind if I tell the Internet this?” I wanted to make sure my source wouldn’t sue me in a court of law.
And now I love my babysitter’s Peruvian boyfriend even more because he said, “You tell the Internet that Peruvians eat ginnea pigs, and tell them that we like it!”