Waaaa

Dear Girl We Spilled a Beer on at a Lower East Side Bar Last Night,

You pretty desperately need to recalibrate your priority meter in life, and learn to take yourself -- and your designer handbag -- a little bit less seriously.

First off, I think it was fairly obvious to anyone within shouting distance that as my harmless-looking buddy and I saddled up to the bar to try and get drinks, we were really not there looking to stir up a fuss. A couple of young, vibrant, enthusiastic single guys obviously just looking to enjoy a few drinks, catch up, and maybe even chat up some cute strangers. We didn't need a sign to announce WE COME IN PEACE.

Why all frowny? I mean, was your childhood that miserable? Did they raise you in a cage without any toys or love? There obviously wasn't a ton of room at the bar, so the fact that my buddy accidentally dropped the beer as he tried to reach across the ROAD BLOCK you and your equally bratty friend created at the bar was sort of your fault too (and yes, I'm not sure you are aware of this, but it really was an ACCIDENT -- he didn't mean to unleash my Guiness all over the bar). Seriously, are you two trying to stop convicted felons here? This looked like a checkpoint from the Terminator movies. Were you girls planning to charge a toll? And would it have absolutely killed you to lean over, just a touch, while my buddy reached over you to get the beer? Oh no, please don't trouble yourself.

So here we are, my buddy playing Operation to get my beer out of the tiny space you've left us, and me being really, really thirsty, and he grabs the drink and it slips through his fingers (the glass was allegedly "wet and slippery"), and it bounces on the bar and there's a shower of Guiness and three drops get on your bag and your ugly excuse for a scarf, but the shower of beer is no match for the shower of BABY ASS TEARS you are shedding as you explode into a fit of adolescent rage. SIMMER DOWN, TOOTS. Poor guy did everything right. He said "excuse me" when he tried to get past you, and he said "I'm sorry" when he dropped the beer. We were not here conspiring against your terrible outfit. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. As it is, he is probably feeling pretty crappy about himself, (1) because he dropped his good thirsty buddy's drink and (2) because everyone is looking at him like he just dropped a tray of food in the high school lunchroom. He doesn't need you piling on here, wenchzilla.

Oh, and by the way, WE GET IT, your bag was expensive and your clothes are expensive and you are uptight and horrendous. You didn't need to keep reminding everyone within earshot. Seriously, do people date you? And I don't mean date in the biblical sense, but date as in "want to spend any appreciable amount of time interacting with you." I have to guess no. I don't even know you or like you and I was still on the verge of slitting my wrists after listening to you screech for ten minutes.

Do yourself a favor. Stay home, have Thurston the butler serve you mimosas on your daybed, and you'll never have to worry yourself with dirtying interactions with the hoi polloi ever again. And please, for the love of all things holy, stop crying. You'll pull through these most trying times.