Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Monday, February 16, 2004

Romantic Vittles

I’m sure someone, somewhere was having them.

ON the other hand, Miss Reba and I had to partake of our supper with the results of our previous amorous couplings, which tends to be less than romantic. Believe it or not.

We went back to the house to pick up Oldest and drop off the spare vehicle and drove toward the lights and glamour of North Chalkville Mountain Road, with its rows of swanky eating establishments such as Applebee’s and Lone Star and Taco Bell and Waffle House and Cracker Barrel and Chevron and BP and Shell. On past those to Ruby Tuesday (non-Leeds version) where we were greeted with absolutely no place to park. No big loss. On up the hill to Bennigan’s, which was actually more convenient to our ultimate destination for later in the evening, Wal-Mart.

Seeing as how they have hamstrung themselves with their past reputation for poor service, we were able to park right by the front door and walk in and get seated with no wait. Just a few tables were occupied, which is probably just as well, because if it had really been jumping we would NEVER have gotten our food.

Our server was very nice, and was occasionally even attentive to our needs. And despite her niceness and occasional interest in us, the food was still late getting out. At least it was hot. I found that I made both a strategic and a tactical error in requesting something different to dip my chicken strips in--it came with some disreputable-looking honey mustard (I suppose) sauce, and I requested some bleu cheese dressing. She brought me back a thimbleful. I was going to ask for a regular-sized bowl like the honey mustard came in, but she was gone in a flash. (I suppose she had someone in the kitchen to chat with about something more important.) I managed to get her attention one more time and, not getting the hint, she brought out yet another thimbleful. ::sigh:: I should have just asked for the bucket.

Then again, had I eaten that much, I might have become even more ill than I became later on in the evening. Whatever she put in those thimbles had some company--probably some kind of virus or germ or other biological contaminant--but whatever it was, it had a very unpleasant effect on my innards. I’m just glad I was at home when it hit and not in Wally World. That would have been bad.

We finished up and the girls all took off for the bathroom, leaving Jonathan and me there to ponder life’s mysteries. “Why do they always go to the bathroom together, Daddy?”

“Well, you see, Son, back in caveman days, you had to be careful when you went to the bathroom so that you didn’t get eaten by a lion or saber-toothed tiger or bear or mammoth or something while you were sitting there in the woods. Guys don’t take a long time, so there’s not much danger, but girls take so long that they needed some extra help to act as lookouts and to have someone to talk to. It’s just one of those behaviors that gets passed down through the generations.”


“Nah. There’s a machine in there that gives away money.”


“Y…no. I don’t know why, Buddy, they just like to do that. Get used to it.”


They finally got back and it was time to head out for our next stop.

Let me just say that you have lived but little until you have shopped at the Wal-Mart on Valentine’s Eve.

Next: Shoppin’

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