Last night was one of those evenings.
It's always odd, because this usually happens on days that have been pretty horrible. Like yesterday, I was tired from lack of sleep, didn't get a grade I wanted on an essay, and my stomach was back to its usual "Let's mutiny against the bitch" self. I got home and tried to pay my tuition, but the school decided they did not, in fact, like my debit card. There wasn't even any new Glee. By the time it was about five or so, I was feeling pretty miserable.
And then my roommate changed the channel to "Come Dine with Me."
Come Dine with Me is a British show on BBC America. It's really the best contest show out there, I have to say. One person makes a dinner, and the other three eat it and judge it. Then another one of these four makes the meal the next night, and so on. At the end, the person with the highest score gets the prize. I think it's like $10,000, except in pounds, but I can't find the little symbol for that.
Well, last night's episode was filmed in Glasgow, Scotland. I love Scotland. I love the Scots. They have basically the most ridiculous accents on planet Earth, funnier even than southerners and Paula Dean. (Hi Y'all!) Even better, one of the four contestants was Asian. Now, I am going to say something horrible, and you'll have to just forgive me.
Asian Scots are the funniest people on earth. You know it, don't lie. You see someone who is Korean, and you expect them to speak with a Korean accent, but instead they sound like Mike Myers in "So I Married an Axe Murderer." It's hysterical. And it's nothing against them. It's like when you meet a really tall, muscle-covered motorcyclist and he sounds like a little girl.
So, after we started watching this, my energy level went from a dull hum to a high pitched WEEEEEEEEE. I started imitating the Scots. I was walking around and saying "cooking" over and over.
When Scots say "cooking," it sounds much more like "cououking." Love it.
I text-messaged my BFF, Matt, because I felt he would appreciate my pretending to be a Scot. He gave me a gold star. After I informed him I was incredibly hyper and might even be hovering above the surface of the couch, he revoked my gold star.
This was around eight PM or so. I spent the next two hours begging for my gold star back. I told him I missed it. I told him I was crying in a closet because I was such a fail. I told him I would have to now be a Walmart Greeter, because I did not have a gold star. He informed me that Walmart probably gives its employees gold stars. I informed him they would never give me a gold star because I was so pathetic. I told him I had been happy and excited, but he had taken my happiness and destroyed it.
Finally, I told him "I was all happy because I had a gold star, but now I feel like sleeping on the floor, under my bed, because I do not deserve a bed."
This made him laugh hysterically, and finally, he said I could have my gold star back.
Was there any point to any of this? Of course not. There rarely is. But now I have a gold star and I can imitate Scots.
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