Last week, or so, ago, I was googlechatting with L. about her upcoming nuptials and the dresses she wants her bridesmaids to wear. After a bit of back and forth, she suggested coming down to Philly and checking out her preferred dress style, and how it looked on me. Well, she didn't put it like that exactly, but that's basically the truth. I was very excited about this. Excited because I would get a chance to try on the dress in question but far more excited that L. would be coming to play. As the week unfolded, we ran into a few obstacles. For example, it turned out that neither Nordstrom's in my area had the dress in stock. When I learned this, I expected L. to say 'well then it doesn't really make sense for me to come down,' which would be understandable. But she said no such thing. Then, as she prepared to leave Brooklyn, she texted to say that her car was being wacky. This, I was sure, would cancel the visit, leaving me bereft and weeping. Except that it didn't stop her! Even though it was already about 8 pm, she was still rarin' to go. Woot! So, around 10 something, L. finally arrived. She and I were both hungry, and I had a groupon for London Grill, so there we went. We split the duck spring rolls, steak salad and mussels....all fine, but not revolutionary (the fried oysters on the salad were extremely lacking in hot/crispiness).
At one point a man came over and asked about the camera. I told him I had a blog. He suggested he take a photograph of L. and myself...we weren't clear on his motives, but said yes to the photograph. Soon thereafter his wife appeared and I asked them how they met (as I often do) and they told quite the good story. The short version being. Huh. You can't really tell it short. There was a CJ57 Jeep, an unimpressive beginning, a late night drive, and an eventual softening of heart (on the lady's side) and now they've been married for 30 years. I think I was supposed to include a link to their chiropractic practice. Let me see if I can find it. Ah yes,
here it is.
And here they are. I love how men will tell the story of how they met their wives, and their wives will often just stand there and nod, amused...but whenever I think the man must be exaggerating, I'll turn to the wife and ask if it's really true, and they always say yes. Doesn't matter whether they're a couple at a bar in Delaware, or a couple on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic, both parties love telling their origin story; and I'm always happy to hear it.
So, after London Grill we decided to have one last drink before heading home (it was later than I usually stay out these days, and dangerously close to last-call). As we were crossing the street a bunch of drunken fools called out to us that we should join their fun, we declined and I commented on the fact that they were probably 19, to which the most jolly of the three refuted...he was turning 26! Again, he suggested we join forces and go to some bar...I declared that we were already heading to a bar after a quick gas station pit stop, and that if we ended up at the same place then it was meant to be. We ended up at the same place. They bought us drinks and were quite nice. I called them fools earlier, but I meant it in a nice way. I ordered a Rusty Nail, and then L. suggested Irish car bombs. This, it turns out, was my first Irish car bomb. Sweet. Who knew? Not me.
We asked one of the guys, a tattoo artist it turned out, to take a photograph of us but he was pretty snockered and we ended up having to press the button and approximate the focus. This was the result. It was a nice and random turn of events. We then headed on home.
Once there L. became just a head. At one point she tried to be just a dead head, but she still looked alive. We went to bed at 4:50. So late. I am not in college, or even grad school, any more, but when you don't start your evening until close to 11, I can see how the hours might slip by a little more quickly. Oh. It was marvelous. L. is one of my favorites, she truly is.
Yay!
At one point a man came over and asked about the camera. I told him I had a blog. He suggested he take a photograph of L. and myself...we weren't clear on his motives, but said yes to the photograph. Soon thereafter his wife appeared and I asked them how they met (as I often do) and they told quite the good story. The short version being. Huh. You can't really tell it short. There was a CJ57 Jeep, an unimpressive beginning, a late night drive, and an eventual softening of heart (on the lady's side) and now they've been married for 30 years. I think I was supposed to include a link to their chiropractic practice. Let me see if I can find it. Ah yes, here it is.
And here they are. I love how men will tell the story of how they met their wives, and their wives will often just stand there and nod, amused...but whenever I think the man must be exaggerating, I'll turn to the wife and ask if it's really true, and they always say yes. Doesn't matter whether they're a couple at a bar in Delaware, or a couple on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic, both parties love telling their origin story; and I'm always happy to hear it.
So, after London Grill we decided to have one last drink before heading home (it was later than I usually stay out these days, and dangerously close to last-call). As we were crossing the street a bunch of drunken fools called out to us that we should join their fun, we declined and I commented on the fact that they were probably 19, to which the most jolly of the three refuted...he was turning 26! Again, he suggested we join forces and go to some bar...I declared that we were already heading to a bar after a quick gas station pit stop, and that if we ended up at the same place then it was meant to be. We ended up at the same place. They bought us drinks and were quite nice. I called them fools earlier, but I meant it in a nice way. I ordered a Rusty Nail, and then L. suggested Irish car bombs. This, it turns out, was my first Irish car bomb. Sweet. Who knew? Not me.
We asked one of the guys, a tattoo artist it turned out, to take a photograph of us but he was pretty snockered and we ended up having to press the button and approximate the focus. This was the result. It was a nice and random turn of events. We then headed on home.
Once there L. became just a head. At one point she tried to be just a dead head, but she still looked alive. We went to bed at 4:50. So late. I am not in college, or even grad school, any more, but when you don't start your evening until close to 11, I can see how the hours might slip by a little more quickly. Oh. It was marvelous. L. is one of my favorites, she truly is.
Yay!
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