On Fridays some of ‘us’ get together and go out to eat. Many of ‘us’ curl on Fridays so for about half the year we’re constrained by the schedule — do we eat together? Before the game? After the game? Where? And so on.
But curling season has ended; the last game has been lost, the last award has been presented, the last ill-fitting sweats have been laundered, the last broom has been taken from the car (I keep two and a half there for the season) and put in the basement.
Because of this, there were no constraints on Friday fud with the exception that some of the regular fudders were busy looking for bulbuls (or maybe not), one other regular was filling out T1s and several just remained mute. The rest of us (all four) decided to go Down The Road to The Next Town Over to a nice little pub by the water. This pub has a pretty good kitchen and live music on Fridays; I’ve mentioned it — sort of — once before.
On that occasion the entertainment was a comedian/singer guy and a waitress who squealed and danced when he played her song. (We never did get to see the battle of Waterloo or if her tuchus was expurgated.) This time there was four of us (me, Ms. Rose, Third Rose and Second Rose who I initially thought about calling Nemesis Rose but decided against it) and the entertainment was an old (he once contemplated performing under the name ‘Old Enough To Be Your Father’) friend (possibly the only Cisco-certified performer in the local music scene) and his trio. Different waitress, though — she was pleasant and competent and resembled a curler from Nova Scotia but wasn’t named after any of the songs in the band’s repertoire. I think.
The band was excellent. The food was excellent. Final score for the evening? One ‘perfect’, two ‘awesomes’ and a mac and cheese with no mac. Again.
What’s the world coming to?