Who doesn't love dipping a toe into absurdity every once in a while? For us, forget just the toes. We jumped into the deep end and let our freak flags fly. I went to dinner with my local girls (my daughter and foster daughter) at the Montana Grill, and there wasn't a one of us who didn't walk face first into a verbal trap at least three or four times over the course of one meal. It was like watching Sideshow Bob walk through a field of rakes. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. None of us takes ourselves so seriously that we couldn't appreciate jokes at our own expense. We all needed a night to unwind, and we seized the opportunity we were given.
My favorite moment of the night: "I'll have the Avalon burger on a gluten free bun, medium rare," I ordered. Younger child, "I'll have the Snowmelt." (Looks at me) "Also medium rare." I told her that I'd raised her right. She explained that it was a chicken sandwich. Nothing like medium rare fried chicken, we decided. "I used to play bass for Medium Rare Fried Chicken," she said.
Honorable mention: Waiting outside closed store where her boyfriend works. He was still inside, showing semi-precious stones to the last customers, while the Buffalo Stampede concentrated on the block outside. I asked whether he'd have to come clean the glass if we pressed our faces up against it to get his attention. She immediately shoved her bag at me, "Gurrrl, hold my purse," and headed to the glass door.
We danced like fools to the fight songs, we sang along to the Journey show that the Golden Buffalo Marching Band has resurrected this season. These girls are great for helping me forget to be old and broken, even if it is just for a few hours. I felt like I was still in college, that everything still worked on me, and that hopping along Pearl Street to the sound of a drum cadence was my birthright. I'm exhausted now, but absolutely thrilled to be alive. Plus, I have a football game to look forward to tomorrow, and it is generally assumed my team will win. I can sleep happy now.
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