Last night we went to the Dance Cave for Claudia and Melissa's Birthdays. Both girls looked smashing, the venue was cool, and music was mostly good ("mostly," because some car commercial music surfaced).
Before my departure for said venue, this is the conversation I had with my mother:
(11pm)
mother: where are you going?
A: The dance cave.
mother: that's a pick-up joint.
A: Mom, it's a whole in the wall. It's not a pick-up joint.
mother: well I've heard people at work talk about it before and they said it was a pick-up joint
A: you work at a pharmaceutical company. What the hell do laboratory analysts from Mississauga know about the dance cave
mother: well whatever just be careful
A: don't worry. It's not a club or anything. It's just rock music tonight.
mother: sounds dangerous. who's driving.
A: Ryan.
mother: what car does he have?
A: corolla.
mother: oh, i don't like those cars
A: why? (we have a Camry, which is pretty much the same car and the "safest" thing according to my parents)
mother: because they are small. corollas are dangerous.
A: (laughs) I'm going.
mother: don't drink a lot. drunk girls look cheap.
