We were only halfway down the street before I started professing my love for red meat. "All things in moderation," I heard myself stating matter-of-factly in my head, and yet, I didn't stop. He's the one who asked, but I bet he wished he hadn't. I bet he wished he had picked up a vegetarian.
At the restaurant, a customize-your-own burger joint, I resisted checking the 1/3 lb. patty and put a dark lead pencil check mark next to the box that said 1/2. "Wheat," I thought. "And sprouts," to balance out my carnivorous burst from the blind date starting gate. After quite the sweet potato fry sales pitch from our waitress, we ordered a side of those and some onion rings. My date ordered his burger on an English muffin which should have been my first clue that we weren't a match. Not that I don't enjoy an English muffin, but to me, it goes better with, say, a glass of prune juice and low-cal imitation butter spread. We handed our order sheets to the waitress and I settled in for what I knew would be the awkward first date (blind, no less) what's-your-favorite-color and tell-me-about-your-family question and answer period. Lucky for him, he could cross off what's your favorite food from the get go, what with my whole self-proclaimed red meat love fest.
Our burgers arrived in record time, a blessing from the burger gods, who either a) knew they had a serious meat-lover on their hands or b) knew the conversation had run as dry as an English muffin sans I Can't Believe it's Not Butter. I took one long inhale, and sunk my teeth into the patty. Perfection. I continued this inhale-bite-inhale-bite routine for the next few minutes, stopping to wipe the mustard from my mouth and to ask all the obligatory first date questions. It was when he told me he doesn't "like to do much" for fun that I decided to drown myself in the sweet potato fries. I dug in deeper and even added the horse-radish dip, well aware there wouldn't be any post-date shenannigans after such bon tete-a-tete convo avec du boeuf.
I looked across the table with four bites of my Martha-made burger left, feeling like a lady for not snarffing the whole thing in a minute flat. I glanced down at Mr. Muffin's plate and lo and behold, he'd taken four bites
total. Clearly, he was disgusted by my manners. Or he regretted the whole muffin-bun switcheroo. Maybe he was so ready to leave it was worth the waste of meat. (Gasp! Waste red meat?! NEVER.) Or, perhaps he was being kind, and after I told him how much I love cow, he decided to join in the feasting, when really, he prefers white meat to red. I'm not sure which.
I saved face and decided to
not pat my very satisfied belly. Rather, in the most ladylike of tones I said, "Thank you. That was delicious." Which, in burger speak means, "Dude! Best. Red. Meat. Ever. I could totally pound another like right now, bro!" He left a generous tip, as well as the trough of onion rings (which, for some reason, I've always felt were too greasy -- explain that one) and we were off to our post-dinner activity.
In college, my roommate's older and wiser sister counseled that to every good blind date, there are 20 bad ones. I don't know what number this one was, nor would I say this necessarily qualifies as bad. On the contrary. The night continued pleasantly. It wasn't the first time I told a boy I heart red meat. But perhaps I've never been in such refined company when I've made such an utterance. His khakis and tucked-in button-up shirt should have been the ultimate give away. Next time that will be my first clue: no meat talk unless he's in jeans and a t-shirt, something he could drip barbecue sauce on and not have to make a trip to the cleaners. As for the whole blind date thing, this much I know: one more down.
True story: This evening, after taking a wrong turn on the way to a place we've been a thousand times, we saw a knight in shining armor. Seriously. A man in a turquoise Chevy Oldsmobile in head-to-toe silver armor. He was sans trusty steed, but in armor no less. Thank goodness we took a right on State instead of a left. They say you'll find your knight in shining armor when you least expect it. 
Mostly Yes, Brain Kershisnik
Last night we took a later than usual for the season jaunt along Christmas Street, strings of lights connecting house-to-house and reindeer prancing off the rooftops. Since you can't be in the Christmas Street neck of the woods and not hit up Bible Street, we headed there next. We took turns reading the signs that announce the arrival of the baby Jesus, skipping some pages completely covered in snow after yesterday's whiteout snowstorm. I'm not sure about my passenger (who may have been a wee bit ill from our supper and perhaps his breakfast and lunch, too) but Christmas isn't Christmas without these two favorite childhood spots. Last night was truly a holiday haut de jour*. After a little coaxing, I got the consent for one last trip: the Christmas window. The "Peas on Earth" display on Michigan probably wasn't the icing on the cake he was hoping for, but it sufficed to sum up the evening before we headed home with our seat heaters on high. I was happy to wake up to more snow this morning, for what is winter without white?
Tonight we bundled up and headed out on the town. Cousin K from the Big City, Miss A and I ate pizza at a new-ish restaurant in town. We were celebrating our three glorious births and enjoying togetherness without the rest of the family around (not that we don't adore them, because 'trilly we do.) K showed up looking oh so City Chic: a fur stole*, black leather gloves, and hair to die for. (I'm not quite sure how we're related.) We dipped our wood fired gourmet pizza in olive oil and fresh Parmesan and followed up on seasonal goals set this time last year. I made everyone look in the bathroom at the fantastic interior design. (It's really top-notch. I can't wait to go back to show N.) K brought mini red velvet cake to share which we ate at Miss A's afterward. We took pictures by the Christmas tree, mostly silly in nature, and listened to Harry for the Holidays. Oh, how I love my dear cousins. 
We were only halfway down the street before I started professing my love for red meat. "All things in moderation," I heard myself stating matter-of-factly in my head, and yet, I didn't stop. He's the one who asked, but I bet he wished he hadn't. I bet he wished he had picked up a vegetarian.
Can I blame it on the fact that we waited an hour and a half to be seated last night at Trio? Or the ridiculously good-looking waiter who had all six of us squished and swooning in our corner booth for four? Or this cold that set in full-force yesterday morning? (The doc says I have a spur in my nose. Excuse me, a what?!) Sure, all those are valid excuses in my book as to why I missed a post yesterday. I had full intentions of penning something. My brother showed up to watch a movie and ten minutes in, he tucked me in bed instead. Sniff. Sniff. Must rest up, however. Because tonight, thanks to incredibly wonderful roommates, I'm spending my birthday eve with these British Boys. I'm not letting a silly cold keep me from rocking it out this evening with Coldplay. Viva la Vida!
It was M's idea. In fact, I had no idea where he was headed as we turned out of the parking lot, but a downtown detour is always acceptable. As we approached the top of the hill, the classical architecture and symmetrical fenestration seemed all too picturesque to pass up in the moonlight, even if we were cutting it close in terms of regular business hours. Turns out, M is more of a kindred spirit than I thought, our eyes locking with excitement as we parked in the empty lot out side of the newly-renovated Capitol building, just hours after the rededication. We were already in formal attire, so why not give it a go? The two of us had a skip in our step as we scaled the steps looking for a still-open door.
