Loit and Slut Go Out To Dinner

I went out for dinner with my friend Slut the other evening.

That's her new name. Slut. It used to be Pick, as in Pickerel, as in the fish. Now it's Slut. She's very nosy as well, so I could very well call her Nosy, but Slut is just much more appropriate. I suppose I could call her Nosy Slut. Or Slutty Nose. Something to think about.

Why? I don't know. It just is. Well, there's actually a story behind it, but it's really too long and inane to go into here. Besides, it doesn't really matter because, chances are, she is a slut, and I just don't know it yet.

I've known Slut for about 11 years now. Amazing, really. We met at CHEO when our sons were both diagnosed with cancer. Her son had leukemia, mine had neuroblastoma. Cancer is cancer. The same shock, the same terror coursing through every mother's system as they helplessly watch the poisonous chemo make its way through their children's tiny bodies, and hope that this is all just a terrible, awful nightmare and that they will soon all wake up and life will be normal once again.

When Slut and I first started hanging out together, we usually ended up talking about cancer, our kids, and our kids with cancer. We'd call each other with worries and concerns, ask for advice, be there for each other when things were going badly.

Slowly, but surely, our friendship grew, and progressed to where our common ground was greater than the cancer that had taken over our lives years before. Now we were friends, true friends, friends for life, beyond that of the disease that had first brought us together.

Now, we talk about everything but cancer. Funny how that happens. So glad that it happened. That is one of the silver linings in the grey clouds that were our lives: our friendship. And I am so glad I know her.

Before I go on with our night out, I thought I'd mention that if you want to make a difference in a child's life who is battling cancer, please go to Jay's site over at Halftime Lessons. On March 21, Jay is shaving his head for kids with cancer. There are lots of awesome prizes to be won as well, but most importantly, your donation will make a difference to children's lives. So, please go check him out and if you can, help out a very worthy cause.

Back to Slut now. So, Friday evening, Slut and I went out for a fancy dinner at the local Boston Pizza. When we go out, we go all out, Slut and I. She was wearing her slutty best black top that accentuated her breasts just so (just admit it), if you know what I mean, with cleavage and all.

She also wore this awesome necklace that encircled her mammaries just so, allowing every man in the fancy Boston Pizza restaurant to easily find her targets. Don't tell me you wore that necklace because you liked the colours, Slut. I know better.

I, on the other hand, wore a baggy sweater and baggy jeans. I am the Anti-Slut.

We had a great time as we ate our four-course dinner. She had a Stromboli, which I always thought was the name of the man in Pinocchio who is a puppeteer, and his main concern is making money (and what's wrong with that?!) and he proceeds to buy Pinocchio from J. Worthington Foulfellow. He locks Pinocchio in a cage and makes him do stage tricks, which make him look so much sillier than he already does, with those knobby knees of his and that crazy nose that keeps growing and growing.


Well, apparently there's this sandwich called a Stromboli as well, and that's what Slut had, along with a plate of slutty french fries. This Stromboli is very much like a calzone, a turnover type of deal filled with veggies, cheese and meat. It looked deeelish. Except they forgot her fries, and gave her a healthy salad instead, but when Slut wants her fries, she wants her fries.



Of course, Slut said no no no to the meat Stromboli because she is a holier than thou vegetarian, which makes going out with her a huge problem in the first place. Have you ever tried choosing a restaurant when you're a carnivore and your best friend is a herbivore? It's not easy, let me tell you. Which is why we end up at places like Boston Pizza. And then, I have to ask myself, were carnivores and herbivores ever friends back in the dinosaur age? I don't think so. Hah! Can you even imagine a Tyrannosaurus Rex hanging out with a Brontosaurus?! Too funny.

And then I started wondering whether maybe our friendship is only a farce, a funny trick Mother Nature is playing on us. Because how can a meat-eater and a vegetarian have a true and honest friendship when all she wants to do is eat her greens and Kashi, and all I want to do is nibble on her ear.

Moving on.

I, on the other hand, had tortellini with alfredo sauce which sucked the big one. And that made me very sad, because if there's one thing I don't like, it's alfredo sauce that tastes like water mixed with a bit of flour. Very tasty indeed. Of course, I ate every last bite because I am a pig. I had also not eaten at all that day so that I could be a pig at the restaurant with Slut because I enjoy filling my belly with lots of expensive and not-so-tasty food. So, I was going to eat that tasteless and watery tortellini whether I liked it or not.

Oh, I also had a slice of garlic toast, but I'm pretty sure it was missing an ingredient: garlic.

So, after we sat and ate, and ate and sat, and talked and talked and talked, I complained bitterly to the waitress about all the noise in the restaurant. Of course, I was just joking around, because I know I'm funny and I like to spread my humour around and I know that people really enjoy my funny jokes and that it would be really selfish of me not to help others smile. But the waitress kind of took me seriously, and she said she could tell the kitchen staff to pipe down, but there was nothing she could do about all the loud and obnoxious customers who were giving me a migraine and bad tortellini acid reflux.

And I had to tell her I was only joking, but I don't think she believed me because she walked away with this sort of vacuous look on her face, kind of like she was in a trance, her mouth partially open. I think I even saw a thread of drool hanging from it, but I could be wrong.

Slut and I ended up having a Chocolate Explosion for dessert at Boston Pizza. It was quite tasty, I must admit. Full of chocolatey goodness, chunks of melted white chocolate mousse or something like that plopped here and there throughout, and even more chocolate. Very decadent, but we both deserved it, we justified, as we sat back after swallowing the last bite, letting our forks clang noisily to the plate, our stomachs poking over the table. Slut even groaned at one point and said she was going to throw up. Dessert had obviously been a success.



After Boston Pizza, Slut and I decided to top off the evening with some more excitement. We decided that Boston Pizza didn't have the best tea or coffee this wild and crazy city offers, so we would have to go elsewhere. Money and time were no object. Nothing's too good for us.

I followed Slut because we were in her neck of the woods, and I am a little bit stupid when it comes to things like directions and locations, especially in Farrhaven at night.

We ended up at a very classy Tim Horton's joint. Inside: a few teens with their pants around their ankles because that's cool, an older gentleman with white hair who was reading something, the 'something' pressed up to his nose (I am not exaggerating), and other weird and wonderful people who were drinking coffee at 10 at night. Who does that? That is something I do not, and never will, understand. The Timmy's across the city are full at 10 in the evening. I dare you to go to one at that time and not have half the place filled with freaks and misfits and a few scattered normal-looking citizens. Oh yeah, there was this other dude sitting behind me that Slut kindly pointed out. He was sitting all alone, reading a book, and every few seconds, he'd slap his other hand. Freak.

Speaking of classy, I bought Slut's steeped tea because that's the kind of friend I am. I buy my friends.

So, then we sat down and talked some more about all the very important things going on in our lives, and then after we had exhausted ourselves, we decided it was time to go our separate ways and make our way back to our respective homes. We must have sat there in those hard plastic seats for almost two hours.

We got up to go home, and Slut pointed to a sign we had been sitting under for the past two hours. I actually whipped out my cell phone and had Slut point to the sign so that I could get one of those really cool action shots to put up here, but I couldn't figure out how the camera on my phone worked. Can you say loser?

Twenty minutes?! Twenty minutes?!?!? Who in god's great country can drink a hot beverage in 20 minutes?! And how can they ever so politely thank you "for your stay", meanwhile simultaneously tell you to get the hell out after 20 short minutes?

And that's when I got my new name. Loit.

Don't tell me we don't lead exciting and amazingly adventurous lives.

Next time, Slut and I are heading to Pizza Hut.