We were coming home from the best steakhouse in all of Europe a few hours ago. SRSLY, the best. They're so good that their reputation for having such bad customer service that even Germans complain about it doesn't stop them doing three seatings a night.
A year ago we could almost walk there. Now, well, we have a back yard (a yard at all!), a floor larger than any flat I've ever had in which the toddler can run around and play until she drops. And since I didn't hit the big lottery three times, we're a little bit outside the centre. So going to this restaurant requires reservations a year in advance and travel by U-Bahn, S-Bahn, bus and taxi.
Stuffed with what can only be descrubed as the Best Last Words Of A Pig EVAR!!1!oneoneone (slatheredin tomato-based sauce), we found ourselves on one of the aforementioned modes of transport. Across from the aisle were two women. One was Canadianm the other probably a Bosnian who had lived on the left side of the Atlantic for a few years. They were louder than some drunken Iowan touorists.
I was about to tell them to STFU. In capital letters. North Americans always self-identify not necessarily with heir accents but Every Fucking Time with the volum knob turned up to 82.
But I was in a good mood, travelling home with my chosen fambly, full of ex-pig and ex-cow and bubble-water (club soda; the name is just how we roll). And we'd been extra-super-special-nice to the Puppy because she'd been such a Good Girl so far past her bedtime.
We had been singing a few songs, letting her lead with some German-tastic crap she's picking up in nursery school as well as her epic renditions of Twinkle Twinkle, and had just finished a l-o-n-g round of Old MacDonald. And those wimmens were LOUD. But I'm trying to pass the open windows.
I didn't think it possible to actually shock sugar_spun. I didn't even groan or grunt or quasi-withhold a scream. I turned to these complete strangers across from us and asked them very politely if they might be convinced to join us in a round of Old MacDonald. And despite some initial hesitancy, they did. And the rest of the fucking carriage sat there smiling (a few more joining in) as these wimmens didn't just do this shit song at Let'sGoDrinkO'Clock, and the whole train was fucking silent as we waited for the Puppy to choose an animal. And then random Germans joined in to sing "Bah-bah hier end ze bah-bah zair".
We got home, I helped the Puppy get to bed (Peppa Pig, oink oink oink), fell asleep early and am now up at stupid-o'clock bragging about my awesome kid. My wife is still speechless that I managed to pull this off, and somehow, some way, there's a bit of me smiling at the idea that instead of telling those two cunts to shut the fuck up already because no one gives a shit about the discount you got on those Jimmy Choos, two random, childless strangers sang a children's song to my little girl. And it made her happy. The best present she gave me was a bit of tat but which showed she cares.
I am lucky.
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