Or at least how we looked last night.I found an outfit. It wasn't bad and it showed off my legs which let me tell you something you may not know- I have great legs! Really, I am not joking. Especially when they are encased in black stockings, which they were.
I may be old and Jesus, I show it, but my legs will be the last to go.
So we got ready and we went to Kool Beanz and we waited and waited and waited and finally we got our seats at the bar and we ate oysters and shrimp and tuna and it was a Mermaid's Feast if there ever was one.
And then, instead of going home and falling asleep which is what we would normally do, we started our Billiard Hall research.
Oh Jeez.
I realized several things during this research:
1. Billiard Halls are not my favorite places.
2. Amazingly, other people seem to like Billiard Halls a lot.
3. When we open one, there will be STRANGERS THERE. People I do not know. Yes, I should have realized this already but really, I'm dense. Did I think I know enough beer drinkers to support a bar? Well. Maybe.
4. I suck, suck, SUCK at pool.
5. Internet Juke Boxes are weird.
And last but not least:
6. Doing Billiard Hall research is not a very romantic date.
"Now make sure you check the ladies' room. I'll check the men's."
Uh-huh. Okay.
Why did I bother to wear stockings?
A barely-over-the-age-of-twenty-one year-old gal stopped Mr. Moon as we were leaving one place to ask him the question EVERYONE ASKS HIM which is, "How tall are you?" This is almost always asked by women who widen their eyes and cock their heads in the most flirtatious way you can imagine whether they are eighteen or eighty-seven. Trust me on this. I've seen it happen at least four hundred times.
"Six-ten" he always says and they sigh and flutter their eyelashes. I stand there like a five-foot-four potted cactus with a patient, bemused expression on my face.
Anyway, that girl insisted, I mean insisted that we were not leaving that bar without her buying us a shot of tequila! I mean it! That was the feistiest twenty-two year old girl I ever met and I wasn't arguing with her. We drank our tequila like the good little boy and girl we were. Whoop-ay-ai, motherfuckers! I'd already been tipsy enough to tell the bartender there that his mama must really love his dimples. Hell, I probably batted my own eyes.
Oh boy. Maybe Mr. Moon was right and I shouldn't tend bar although you can bet the ranch I won't be drinking if I do.
In my defense I will say that I'm sure that boy's mama does love his dimples.
We finally ended our rounds at Halligan's at approximately 1 a.m. This is where we actually shot a game of pool and I realized just how intensely bad at pool I am.
Anyway, that was that, and I'm sure that before the this evening is over I'll be enjoying the little Valentine's Day gift that Mr. Moon brought home last night. Here's what he brought me:
Veggie chips.
Bean dip.
Wasabi peas.
And oh yes, some Kona Coffee.
Who says romance is dead?
Me. Maybe. Possibly.
But still, it's been a nice day and I have some venison backstrap in the crockpot with spices and onions and apples and I hope it's good.
I'm still wearing my silver necklace because it's mine and I can.
And let me ask you something- What do you look for in a Billiard Hall/Sports Bar? Tell me, please. Tables, yes of course. We will not be seving hard liquor. We will be making sandwiches. We might have a few video games. We might, occasionally, have a bit of musical entertainment. An older lady wearing purple eye-shadow may or may not be serving drinks and making sandwiches. We will not have an internet jukebox if I have anything to say about it.
We need a name. So far we're thinking of a few including Shoot The Moon, Big Shots, Bank Shot, and my favorite, but the one Mr. Moon will not even consider- The Bad Girls Pool Hall.
Suggestions, please.
Because really, I can't go out and research the Billiard Halls myself anymore. I can't stay up that late, I can't drink a beer at every bar. And forget the tequila.
Please. Really. I insist.
And oh yes. A very happy Valentine's Day to your and yours and if yours is you and you alone, I have this to say: Buy yourself a gift. Don't let it be Wasabi peas. Eat ALL the chocolate. Because you can.
And bless our hearts, okay? Again, I insist.
