Sometimes I'm just not quite sure what comes over me. I sit at work and code and write and talk to my lovely doodlerMan on the_Instant_Messengers and think . . . you know . . . we should really go out and drink cheap beer from a can at an awful seedy restaurant. Yes, that would make a lovely evening.
So, in spite of the impending rain storm, we set out for a place neither one of us had ever been. The first step inside the joint was noxious. Filled with greasy covered tschotskies and waxed animal heads. Even before the cool canned beer swilling, we both set easy comfortable into laughter and too many elbow pokes.
Our food was inedible. Fried alligator (which we theorized later must have actually been feral cat whacked with a salty haddock) and possibly maybe the most tragic vegetarian sandwich either one of us have ever encountered. We were quite sure when the waiter asked us that we didn't need a box for the leftovers. Then we chased the sound of our laughter bouncing around downtown. All the way home.
And on the couch later, clutching our stomachs and talking and ignoring the television, I felt buzzy. I've got some kind of best-life.
This morning, I woke up to my boyfriend moaning . . . "Happy Birthday, darling." And I laughed and laughed through bedsheets and promised to never take us for alligators, again.
Off to drink more coffee and watch cartoons in my girl-pants.
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