Part two.
I promised specifics and to start I can simply focus on the incidents of Saturday night. First up? Dinner at Henry’s Tavern in the Pearl with Allie. We were going out for a friend’s birthday, but they weren’t going to be out until 10. That’s 10 at night. I’m usually in my nachtzeug and glasses by then.
Even when I was in college (the first time) I found it unnecessary to start parties so late. I never really understood that concept. Now that I’m almost 30 it makes even less sense. Not only were we going out past my bedtime, but also heading to a bar with karaoke, ugly people making out, and nowhere to sit. (I’m old and I’m wearing heels! Just give me a freaking bar stool!) So Allie and I decided to have some super happy best friend time first with beer and… more beer at Henry’s.
Side note: Walking Man Black Cherry Stout from Stevenson, Washington just might be the best thing ever.
Of course we all know what happens after a beer or two. I tried to put it off as long as possible but nature won over. I was on my way to the ladies room and took a wrong turn. I could use this to mention I’m not good with directions either. I started walking toward the server station when I realized I couldn’t get through that way so I stopped sharp and promptly fell right on my ass, kicking one of my legs up in front of me in the process.
Because I was wearing my heels (the cute purple ones with no traction) and since I already have issues with balance, I really should have known this wouldn’t end well after booze was added to the equation. Fortunately it was only in front of half the patrons and servers, including ours. I can handle that. I’m used to restaurant employees thinking I’ve had too much because of tripping, falling, and knocking over menu stands… not that that’s ever happened to me…
But it did give me an excuse to slip “ass bruise” into conversation later. Always a plus.
Coming up: Burping in Old Town.
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