Went out with mom&dad as an “ode to short week/tomorrow is thanksgiving and we’re NOT cooking” dinner. We went to a favorite sports bar and sat at a cozy table nuzzled between the bar and the row of high-top tables along the edge of the room. Near the end of dinner a group of Black Wednesdayers started taking over the high-top next to us. Thats cool. The table was open. Whatevs.
Half of the group remained at the bar. They’d obviously (obviously, as in, I’d watched them) had a shot or two. It was about the time that we got our bill that they started shouting to their friends, still at the bar. And then there’s us. We’re in the middle. “HEY! JOHN! Hey John!” “YEAH! GET ME ONE TOO!”
This went on for a while and I was about ready to say something to them when my mom looks up and says, “Welp, it is time to go.” We all know why. It is then that my dad starts yelling our names across the table to us. “LORI!” “KATE!” “TIME TO GO!”
Take that. We’re so bad(z).