Lesbian Grandma's and Bra Strap Molesters'

I've always considered my life to be somewhat on the "boring" side. And because of my innate fascination for drama and exaggeration (my friend always tells me to divide whatever I say by three to get the truth), I try to find random hobbies in order to spice up a conversation. I learned how to knit a sock for a cell phone. I can solve 1000 piece puzzle in two days. I'm trying to play the acoustic guitar so that I can live up my secret dream of being a country singer. Sadly, these things collectively make me sound like a lesbian grandma.

Anyways...

I went to Honda with my mom today for an oil change and tire rotation. Now, for most people, this would be a simple and mundane task. Try going with my mom. People automatically hated us right when we walked into the waiting room; I made loud slapping sounds with my flip flops, and my mom jabbered loudly in Korean while gawking at the people inside the room. I've noticed that when a person speaks a foreign language in a room full of the nonbillingual, a mutual bond of hate towards the "immigrant" is created among the "natives." I think people automatically assume we're insulting others in "our language," but who knows? To them, I'm just a stupid immigrant with annoying flip flops. When my cell phone rang, I answered it even though a huge sign stuck on the wall declared: "Please No Cell Phones In This Area." Of course, I've never been much of a stickler for the rules in public (plus, I probably looked like I didn't know how to read English), but I decided to shut up before someone hurled a newspaper across the room (the most likely candidate was the man with the puke green Crocs who glared at me with squinty eyes while crushing his coffee cup). Not that I have anything against puke green Crocs. It's just that it's beyond me that people will want to wear puke-colored footwear thats full of holes like a type of funky-smelling cheese. Afterwards, I decided to open a book like a normal person. I was reading, "Me Talk Pretty One Day." Ironically, the gramatically incorrect book title made it seem like I was reading a book for--err, people who answer the phone with a "Yello? Me no speak Enguhleesh." Just when I was getting into the book, my mom started slathering lotion all over her hands. When she offered me some, I realized that the product was hair gloss. She had bought hair gloss thinking it was lotion.

Moments later, my mom started hitting her thighs in public. Why? She claimed that molesting her thighs would make her lose weight.

When I finally left Honda (feeling embarrassed and oddly humoured), we picked up her friend. I was wearing a tanktop that revealed my bra straps. Both of them started talking about how "in the old days" and "in Korea" girls would never walk around with their bra straps showing. All the while, they were snapping my bra straps against my back like it would make a point or something. Honest to God, I think I have battle scars from the bra strap molesters.