Well, I’m in a shitty mood today. Grumpy as all get-out. Might have something to do with an ex coming in Saturday night. She came in, sat down, I recognized her straight away, looked at her, smiled and ran fast as I could downstairs when I realized she hadn’t a clue who I was. For a while, I couldn’t shake the thought that I haven’t aged well. She looked exactly the same as she did fourteen years ago. I’m not holding up as well, otherwise she woulda known who I was. Know how I know she didn’t know? You always know when someone doesn’t recognize you. The blank look(s) on their face(s) speak(s) volumes.

Might have something to do with Rudy being mad at me, this shitty mood of mine. Rudy is the one guy I love as close to unconditionally as I can love anyone here. I know he’s mad cause we’re not laughing and giggling like we used to. Earlier today, I tried to engage him in our normal laughing and giggling. He shook his head and went ‘Nah, nah.’ I wish I could tell you why that deflated me.

I screwed up my fantasy football draft last night. Screwed it up in such a basic, fundamental way, it’s gonna be a tooth and nail struggle each and every week. (I coulda took Moss or Calvin Johnson in the second round. I took Portis. I’m an idiot.) Might be that my shitty mood is cause I just consigned myself to seventeen consecutive weekends of foul grumpiness with one stupid pick.

Something happened to my favorite old couple. Nothing major, but it is unfortunate, and the last thing these two need is more … ‘unfortune.’ I was giving the husband a hard time bout the two of them being so scarce, since … April or May. When he told me why the scarcity, I did two things. I told myself we’d be picking up the tab, and second: I made sure he didn’t sit in Alan’s section, cause the guy’s going through enough right now as it is without having to suffer through an Alan service.

There is a general overall shitty vibe round here lately. It might be rubbing off on me. Sarah’s ticked. Cheryl’s unhappy. Jason’s out of sorts. Steve snaps at everyone. Nando’s upset about a family thing. Reggie needs some time off to take care of a few pressing matters. Julie’s other job drives her up a wall. Laura hasn't had sex in a few hours. Even Alan keeps to himself, the past week or so. As much as I bitch about this place (which is daily), I do console myself with the knowledge that, by and large, we may be inadequate, incompetent, useless, lackadaisical, blasé, without a clue or hope, but goddamn it, we’re a jovial, affable bunch. Lately, we haven’t been.

Anyway.

Anyway.

Anyway.

So there’s this kid who came in with his dad. Six or seven year old kid with his roughly-my-age dad. Kid’s all excited bout just the two men of the house going out for lunch. No mom, no sis, just father and son. Dad got a burger, kid got a buncha fried things cause dad said he could.

The kid was happier than I’ve seen a kid be around here in a long time. He did most of the talking. There’s a kind of talking kids do when they’re real worked up in a good way. It’s just this side of spazzy. It seems like it can tip over into dicey spazziness at any moment but it never does. The kid’s just … happy. He had crayons and while he was talking to his dad (who contented himself with listening and pints of Guinness), he also scribbled in his coloring book. I thought, ‘Well, there you go. Something beautiful, sweet and simple. Something hopefully to counterbalance the grumpy around here.’

(It reminded me of a dream I’ve been having of my dad. It’s not a pleasant dream. From it, I emerge more than slightly distraught. I won’t share it here (few things in life are more boring than some idiot talking bout his dreams), but I will say, he, my son and I are eating at my restaurant and I can’t tell if dad likes the food or not.)

As they left, the kid rambled bout how it was the best lunch ever and they were having the best day ever and it’s too bad mommy’s not with us but sometimes it needs to just be the men, sometimes men need to go out and have lunches. Dad nodded, agreed, mm-hmm’ed him like you’re sposed to when you’re a dad and you’re only half paying attention to your kid but you want the kid to think he’s receiving your complete and full attention. The dad handed me a torn-out page from the kid’s coloring book, told me it was for us. The back page, I guess, cause it was blank, except for a poem the kid had written. As I read it, I thought, ‘This is what I have to look forward to.’ The thought in equal parts thrilled me and scared the ever-lovin’ shit outta me.

This is the poem. Here you go. I shit you not. This is the poem the kid wrote. Apparently, it’s called ‘Turtle, Turtle.’

Turtle, Turtle.

Why do you swim in lakes,

Rivers and oceans?

Is it because you like laying your eggs in there?

Or are you just showing off your swimming skills

To other creatures?

Turtle, Turtle.

Why do you hide in your shell?

Is it to protect yourself from predators, for hide and seek,

Or both?

Turtle, Turtle.

Why do you snapper snap

At people and other animals?

Survival? Just for fun? Both?

Turtle, Turtle.

That’s it. That’s the poem. Now I’m gonna find a place to tape it up.