Sir, PLEASE! I'm Not Gonna Ask You Again. Give Me My 40 Acres and a Mule!!!!

That was my saying of the night... you know the one - every time you go out and have a few drinks, there's always one thing that you say that gets cemented in everyones' minds because it's just so damn funny? Well, that was mine. "Sir, PLEASE! I'm not gonna ask you again.... give me my 40 acres and a mule!!" (actually it sounded more like "40 goddam acres and a motha fuckin' mule," but hey - I was pleasantly intoxicated!).

Friday night I went out to dinner with some friends at this place called The Den in Harlem. I checked out the menu online before I went (being the foodie that I am!), and I had several of the drinks earmarked in my mind for future consumption. The "Foxy Brown," the "Gold Digga," "The Jungle Fever," and as you can see, my favorite, "The 40 Acres and a Mule." When we get there, I look at the drink menu and immediately notice that my first choice isn't printed there. After much cajoling with the waiter and the bartender, the second "he" remembered how to make the drink and the first "he" brought it to my table. The 40 acres: Stoli Orange, Watermelon Pucker, and Apple Snapps. The mule: a chaser shot of Coffee Patron. Whoo chile... now THAT is my kind of drink. I had one before the food came, then my meal came with a glass of red wine, then I had another... so that brought me to a grand total of 80 acres and two mules (sorry, Helen... I had to say it just one more time!). Then (as if that weren't enough), I had a Jungle Fever (layered shots of Kahlua and Bushmill's Irish Cream)...

Now, don't get me wrong, I really am not a lush. But there were these two guys who insisted on sitting down next to us and carrying on a completely ridiculous conversation about a whole lot of nothing. They were correctional officers at Sing Sing (is that the new pickup line - was I supposed to be impressed?), but they had the combined conversational ability of a brass monkey (my mom used to say that - I used to giggle every time!). As soon as they leaned over and started talking (completely uninvited, I might add), I started in on the waiter to "keep 'em comin!" I can't even begin to tell you guys how hard it was not to just crack up laughing right in these guys' faces, but they just wouldn't get the hint: we kept trying to have a conversation that included only the three of us, but they always found a way in. Finally, the big one (yes, there was a big one and a little one!) said, "So what do yall single ladies do for a livin?" (who said we were single? But anyway...) I was kinda hoping that this would do the trick, so I looked expectantly at Marsha who smiled ever so sweetly and said, "I'm a physician." The little one choked on his Heineken. Then Shevonne said, "I'm a marketing analyst at ING." The big one's eyes got big, but to his credit, he swallowed his beer. Then I round 'em out with, "And I'm a pharmacist." At that point, I got a little taste of why men can spot a gold digga a mile away... these dumb asses then proceeded to ask us each how much money we make and how come we're not married. SIGH..... that was when I had to yell at the waiter. I had asked him two times to bring me another drink, and he just wasn't moving fast enough to numb the pain that these losers were inflicting. "Sir, PLEASE!! I'm not gonna ask you again. Give me my 40 Acres and a Mule!! Don't you think it's about 200 years overdue?" The entire restaurant got SILENT, Marsha and Shevonne were giggling their asses off, and the waiter turned this lovely shade of plum. When he finally brought it over, I apologized profusely and left a very generous tip, but I'm sure he rushed home to tell all of his friends about the angry Black women in The Den that were demanding their 40 acres. Man, Brother Jesse would be so proud :)