(continued from yesterday)
I glanced at Pilot Boy, confused. "Uh - what?"
"My girlfriend is going to kick your ass," the guy repeated. "Hey, Cheryl!" he yelled over his shoulder. "You coming?"
"Hang on, I have to get my shoes on!" a disembodied voice replied, from the general location of the semi truck. Momentarily a girl stumbled out of the darkness, carrying a beer and pulling on a shoe, with tall hair shellac'd into place. She looked around at the assembled company and then back at the dude for confirmation. He gestured at me.
"Are you dissin' my man?" she demanded, pointing a finger at me.
I stared at her, taken aback. Not because of the accusation, but because someone had actually used "are you dissin' my man" in conversation. I looked at FoN and Valentina, who were equally stunned. Pilot Boy was gazing back and forth between the guy and the girl like they were in a tennis match, a look of astonishment on his face.
"Wh-what?" I managed to reply.
"Are you dissin' my man?" she repeated. She looked a little put out that we weren't already trading punches. Apparently this wasn't how the script went.
FoN and I looked at each other. And then we burst out laughing.
"Am I - what??" I managed, through hysterical laughter. "Am I DISSING your MAN?"
She sneered. "You told him to fuck off!"
"He told me to shut up! You guys are setting off the air horn on a semi truck, and you're telling ME to shut up?"
The conversation (I use that term loosely) continued in that exasperating vein for a bit. Apparently my earlier rage wasn't as settled as one would hope, because eventually she goaded me somehow - I don't remember, but FoN says she called me a "fat bitch" - and suddenly I really DID want to kick her ass.
Or, y'know, try. Considering I'd never been in a fight in my LIFE.
FoN, who I've often thought was born a couple of decades too late, was trying to placate both of us by saying things like, "Hey, we're all happy here, it's all good, peace and love and groovyness, you guys!". Neither of us were responding well to that approach. Meanwhile, Cheryl the Ass-kicking Redneck's "man" was smirking at the sidelines, saying things to Pilot Boy like, "This is gonna be good," and "Do you think they'll end up rolling around in the mud? I hope so."
Anyway, he was disappointed. At my core, I really didn't want to fight, so I let FoN and Valentina drag me away, leaving Cheryl and her Man standing around our tent with Pilot Boy. He claimed later that he offered to fight in my stead, but that really wasn't what the Yokel Couple was after. Eventually they wandered off and climbed back into their semi, which ran all night. FoN and Valentina talked me down and returned me to the tent.
In the morning, Pilot Boy and I were at each other's throats with renewed vigour as we realized the Datsun Z was lodged firmly in the mud. We had to track down some people we hadn't pissed off with our fighting to help push us out. I think there were maybe 3.
The semi truck was nowhere to be seen.
Kind of anti-climactic, I know. So I'll leave you with the moral of the story: Don't date conceited pilots.
Oh, and don't tell people in semi trucks to fuck off.
(I forgot to mention that this was all inspired by the topic over at the Spin Cycle this week)
(Also, Google Reader is not showing my last 3 posts for some reason. If ya'll are using the feed to keep track of me, you may have to res-subscribe?)