Saturday night I met my friend Marisa for some Christmas cheer at Warren’s (you already know where this is going). We were having a lovely chat when an old guy (basically, gray-grandpa-ish) approached us. I should say, he approached me. He rudely interrupted our conversation to invite me to dinner at the restaurant next door. When I, mostly politely, declined, he said that “A fella had to ask.” And it would have been fine if he’d left it there. But he didn’t. He then went on to ask me if I knew what “volump…volumptuous” meant. I think his false teeth slipped the first time he attempted the word. I looked at Marisa, trying to gauge whether or not I should verbally shame the man. Decided that he was trying to give me a compliment (or call me fat, six of one), so I told him I did indeed know what “that word” meant. He said, “Just checking,” then moved on.
Yeah, I still got it baby. In the seventy-to-eighty age bracket, anyway.
After Warren’s, I popped into the Continental to see Banana Blender. They sounded great, and they really brought out some people who I haven’t seen in years. I think one guy came out to me. It was hard to tell because the music was loud, so he may have been telling me something else. Who knows. Those screaming, ear busting conversations at live music venues are so awkward. Half the time you’re saying WHAT? YOUR CAT WAS DRIVING A TRACTOR? YOUR CAB DRIVER WAS ATTRACTIVE? WHAT?
Christmas in the country was fantastic. My little brother and his wife hosted the Christmas meal (first time away from my parents’ house), and they did an amazing job. The tree at my parents’ house was buried in presents. We like giving gifts in our family. And the receiving part isn’t bad, either.