To fit in with Meg's post today, here's Exhibit #124 in our "Faces of Willie Mitchell" Series. The one is called, "Birdo." (Photo by Harry How/Getty Images)
So I called in sick yesterday because I worked through the worst of my cold on Friday & Saturday and even though I was feeling better I felt that I deserved to miss a day of work. I called in sick and I lucked out this time because I actually had a sore throat so I didn't have to fake a Sick Voice like you have to when you have a headache or whatever.
I celebrated my day off by getting a sweet hair cut and then going to Burger King. (The cool thing about being sick when you're an adult is that you can do stuff on your day off and don't have to stay in bed and watch Matlock and In The Heat of the Night all day like my mom used to make me do.) So I got my hair cut and got germs all over the poor old Asian lady who cut my hair, then I zipped over to the King. Burger King's kinda the Knott's Berry Farm of fast food places for me (it's in high regard but I normally never actually go there) but for some reason I really wanted some chicken tenders. When I got there I realized they changed their tenders a few years ago and now had chicken fries, which is bullshit. But I was already in line so I ordered from the little lady in the box.
And yes, I know they technically still have chicken tenders but they're different and they don't come in a meal and they're just not the same, OK?
Here's when things went awry: the lady asked me if I wanted a free ice cream cone with my meal. There were a lot of things I could've asked ("What flavor?" "Why?") but I wasn't really paying attention and I'm still kind of sick so I said, "Sure, that sounds good." ...Well actually, I said "Uh, OK!" a little too loud and also my voice cracked a little bit. So I pulled around and paid and then the Burger Lady gave me my ice cream cone and I swear, it was the tiniest ice cream cone I've ever seen. I could only put my thumb and first 2 fingers (the good ones) on it at any one time. And on top of this little guy was a comically large amount of ice cream. I mean, the ice cream was twice as tall as the cone itself and it was already starting to melt down the side.
Plus the ice cream was vanilla, which is bullshit.
So I balanced this tiny cone with one hand while I'm grabbing my drink and bag o' food with other, and then I realize I'm going to have to fucking drive with this cone in my hand. And the ice cream is melting down the side and I don't want it in my car so I start driving while frantically licking the ice cream to keep the sides from leaking all over me. So I'm veering through traffic, a deranged look on my face while I lick this cone and I'm pretty sure I'm about to die and get ice cream on my seat. Eventually, through great struggle, I manage to get the situation sort of under control and I'm pretty sure I'd eaten enough ice cream to keep it from melting down the side.
And then the brain freeze hit.
Prediction: And then the best part is that I woke up this morning and I feel terrible and I think the Burger Lady probably gave me different germs because the universe is punishing me for calling in sick in some Pinocchio-esque morality tale. This is bullshit.
Also, I took some cough syrup yesterday and then came up with the concept of McConau-gay to explain the way I feel about myself when I wear a Henley shirt. It's when you feel like a badass but also kind of gay. It's also how I feel when I go on a cruise.