We’re trying to figure out where to go on our honeymoon and so far we’re stuck on Thailand or South Africa. I love animals so I’m all about Africa, but I’m also really into butlers so I want to go to Thailand where I can ethically own someone.
At the Saint Regence Hotel in Bangkok you’re given a personal butler with one of their rooms that would normally cost about 2,000 bucks in the US but goes for about 200 bucks there. I told Francesco about this while he was showering because news like that can’t wait.
Me. “WE CAN GET A BUTLER! WE CAN GET A BUTLER! THAILAND! IN THAILAND!”
Fra: “Wait, what? Slow down!”
ME. “If we go to Thailand I get a butler, my own butler, it’s ethical and I would tip them a lot because I’m nice but I get a butler and it says they make you coffee in the morning and draw the drapes, so basically I can be like that ugly girl from Annie. And the butler will do “anything” according to the website so she can read me books and help me plan trips and I can name her butterfly!”
Fra. “You can’t name them.”
ME. “Who fucking says!? I can name her buttlerfly. Butterfly, please make some coffee. Butterfly, does this skirt make me look fat? It’s going to be the best time! We’re going to Thailand!”
Then we started to make dinner. And I was chopping stuff and trying to make conversation.
ME. “Are you excited to have a Butler?”
Fra. “Not really. I mean, it seems kind of weird to me. I don’t really care about having a servant.”
Me. “Well that’s a lie. I’ve seen you around your mom. So, you don’t think it’s cool because you’re used to having one. And if you ask butterfly to do anything for you I’m going to tell her to ignore you because you have mother issues.”
Fra. “Whatever you say babe.”
Me. “Oh, and the internet says the butlers are discreet. What does that mean? Does that mean they’ll find you sex workers? You can have a BJ if you want if she’s a consenting adult.”
Fra. “I don’t want one.”
Me. “Right. You say that now but just wait until some hot ass is all naked rubbing you down and just like that BAM! You’ll be addicted to hookers. That’s something to think about I guess so maybe I should hold off on that decision.”
Fra. “Jesus! I don’t WANT one! Misty! How the hell did you go from butler service to hooker addiction!?”
ME. “Because the butler is going to get you addicted to sex workers.”
Fra. “Yeah, totally obvious connection. You are…something.”
Then Francesco went over to the laptop and put on “yellow and black” or whatever that song is with Snoop Dogg. He is fascinated with rap culture.
Fra. “Why do you think they are singing about yellow and black? What does it mean?”
ME. “You’re reading into it too much we’re not studying Faulkner here, you’re talking about a dude who became famous by singing about smoking weed and getting laid sometimes which I still find funny. Everyone has sex, bragging about it just means that you’re shocked that someone would sleep with you. Anyways, in this song they are singing about colors. They probably have a thing for a basketball team or bees. They really like insects.”
Fra. “Why do you think Snoop can dance like that but if I do it I look like an idiot?”
ME. “Because Snoop is about seven feet tall and huge people can do whatever they want.”
Fra. “Who says?”
ME. “The king of Thailand. And he’s important. It says on the internet that if you insult the king at all you can go to jail. He’s serious.”
Fra. “Well, it’s a country where everyone does thai kickboxing. It’s a serious place. Also, are you saying average size people can’t dance and look cool? You’re not tall.”
ME. “I’m above average for a girl.”
Fra. “WHO SAYS!?”
ME. “The king of Thailand.”
Fra. “Pft. Whatever.”
ME. “You know what!? Butterfly knows muay thai and I’m going to make her kick your ass.”
ME. “THAT’S IT! I’M FUCKING TELLING BUTTERFLY!” And I slammed my silverware down for emphasis.
Fra. “There is a lot wrong with all of this.”
ME. “What? Oh.”