How many socialites does it take to tell a blonde joke? If you’re thinking one, you’re way off. Starbucks blonde jokes are far too complicated. Much more complicated than a non-socialite would think.
Yesterday morning while I rocked out some work at a Midtown Manhattan Starbucks, a socialite strutted in, followed closely by a nanny pushing a buggy.
The socialite marched up to a table occupied by two young blonde women and loudly told the entire Starbucksian theater in the round, “This is our table!”
The women at the table suggested that the socialite instead take any one of a number of unoccupied tables. The socialite threw her hands in the air.
Undeterred by the confusion caused by the unanticipated change in venue, the nanny settled in at a big table in the center of the room and lifted a child from the buggy.
“Blondes,” the socialist said loudly as she joined the nanny at the big table.
By this point, I was sure Starbucks blonde jokes were coming, and I was 100% tapped in to the events unfolding around me. As in, client deadline be damned, I cannot look away from this train wreck of a woman. No big surprise, as I’m attracted to minutiae, idiosyncrasy, lunacy, and silliness much in the way moths are drawn to light.
The socialite pointed at the two women who had had the misfortune or being blond and the nerve to sit at her table.
“How many blondes does it take to change a light bulb?” the socialite asked the nanny in her theater in the round voice. “One to just stand there and one to hammer in the bulb. And it breaks because she used a hammer.” The socialite paused, looked up at the ceiling in confusion. “Wait. That’s not right. One to just stand there and one to spin the other around so it breaks? Or maybe it doesn’t break and it just comes out? God. Whatever. It takes at least two of them.”
Best joke I’ve ever heard. True story.