Tribute to Snooty Bitches

     Partly due to an extremely busy life the past couple of months, I have been dragging my ass about posting on HotDads. Then on Friday, I was called on to the Daddy carpet (good-naturedly), and encouraged to post by some Hot Dad loyalists before my lazy ass was shown the door.
     All that being said, here I am with my tale...and for those of you who know me, this is my Tuesday Tribute to a couple of snooty bitches I met yesterday who ultimately I discovered could not be counted on for a shred of humanity.

You see, my beautiful wife and I are in month 6 of looking for acceptable bedding to adorn our chamber of love, or as I am proud to call it, "The Speed Zone". We have exhausted thousands of stores in search of appropriate comforters/sheets/etc to set the stage, and have not found anything that would stand up to our lifestyles. Make all the assumptions you want.

So in an effort to maximize some daylight hours while the kids napped, I ran out to Costco to grab a couple of deckchairs, and then headed to a store we had not explored yet, at the request of my wife, called Hemispheres.

In my hurry to leave the house, I had quickly thrown on a pair of shorts, a tshirt my wife had just purchased for me, and thrown a fleece on top. Grab my flipflops, and run. With all the hauling of deckchairs around Costco, I was rather warm once I got back out to the car, so I removed my fleece. Drove to Hemispheres. Hop out of the car, head into what turned out to be the Nirvana of Duvets.

So, in I go. Tshirt, shorts, flipflops, and a fat wallet, ready to spend whatever necessary to euthanize Sheetsearch 2008-9. This being a high end furniture store in a bad economic climate, I am instantly assaulted by two salesbeauties ready to service my every retail need. And I mean, I'm excited. Not only because I am already seeing bedding that looks like it is gonna be a winner with the real decision maker, but also because the staff and customers in this place seem to rival the Hollywood elite. As crappy as I look in my torn cargo shorts and brand spankin' new rocker tshirt, I know there's a good chance that now I am around the pretty people,  my look may be interpreted as trendy instead. Lookin' good, sir.

The plastic people ask if I need help, give me a coupon flier, and quickly retreat from me. Hmm...odd, thought they'd be pushier. Check my pits for offending aroma, and continue with my search.

Got a question...call over Barbie. She doesn't look too taken with me, must be the wedding ring. Because I look SWEET, and I've got cash dollas to spend, yo.

Another question...kinda feel like I have to drag the gal over this time. What the hell? Honey, I may not be 185 anymore, but I am LOVED in Belgium, AND I'm a Hot Dad. Might be overestimating my chub-ass in these cargo shorts.

Final question...can't even get the gals to leave the counter for this one...and my self confidence is now circling the toilet bowl. But I have great news for the wife, so I'm headed home.

When I emerge from the car and begin unloading chairs, my wife walks up. She takes one look at me, and with a grimacing smile, she says "Oh honey, you're gonna be so embarrassed."

She points at my shirt.



You see, I'm a Hot Dad. And I'm bringin' sexy back to retail.

And to you snooty bitches, this Tuesday Tribute is for you. Next time, how 'bout fucking saying something? Pretend that even though you're 75% plastic, that you still have a heart under all that glitter lotion and silicone. In this emaciated economic climate, you just lost a customer. I will never again set foot in your store.

I mean, after we buy your fucking comforter.