...two guys walk into a bar....
BuddahPat, the Animal, Desdemona One and I sit in a BYOB Thai restaurant when Superman walks in. This sounds like the opening to a joke, but it's just the opening to my post, and I didn't even write it. The Animal did. Plus, it actually happened like that. BuddahPat was a Thai virgin, which is fair because he popped my sushi cherry, though it was someone else who convinced me (under influence of beer) to try sashimi.
After Thai, we go to Turner's, where BuddahPat's favorite beertender is on duty. I see two lovely reasons why she's his favorite. She's also really sweet, and makes me a weenie (read: I can drive after drinking it) Cosmo. Which was delicious.
We watch pretend TV. It was the episode of Barney Miller where Joan Collins makes a guest appearance. And Gary Busey in a bad toupee. The Animal rolls his eyes.
"What was her name?"
Never tell me that I know YOUR favorite bartender's name before you do.
"Ah, but you do. What was it?"
It's Tori. And I think she, like Beyonce, is proof of the existence of God. I know this is a favored theory of his.
"That's right. Beauty like that doesn't happen by accident."
Thursday, the rain begins. Between then and now, the five gallon bucket in my front yard has nearly filled. And it continues to come down. Ernesto The Hurricane knocked out power in our area, including at the Festival, but we persisted. As did the patrons. Still, I'm glad I don't have to work in the weather today.
In white angel outfits, we pass Kate Cox's booth. Her baby daughter is wrapped in red silk. Kate passes her to me, and we pose. Somebody get me a copy of that.
Later, I let myself lag behind, looking at the backs of my troupe, all stilted up. The big pow of turquoise, red and lilac fills my eyes. Something else, pride, maybe, or joy, fills my heart. Whatever it is, I'm glad to be on site, because my throat is also full and I couldn't speak if I wanted to.
"Look, it's Mimi! There she is!"
I put on my 'I'm so glad to see YOU' face, just in time. "Look, honey, I told you she'd remember!"
I put out my hand. She rears back.
"She's afraid of gloves. It's okay, sweetheart, this is Mimi! She's been talking about you all year!" Right, the little fairie girl afraid of gloves, I do remember. She was Vignette #4. And she's brought not only her grandparents, but also her parents and her new baby brother, who I promptly steal. Oh, way to comfort the kid. Go, Mimi.
I tip my hip, saucy, at a patron the beertender has now informed me "totally just took a photo of your bum." In response, Mac McPatron flashes me.
He flashes me.
That's right, lifts his kilt from where he sits on a bench and flashes me his wanker.
Apparantly he's got a sheepskin tucked inside the back of his wool kilt- which makes sense for sitting- and there it lies, like an uncooked sausage on a fluffy bun.
Before I look away with a shudder of astonishment, it registers that he's not only regimental, he's uncut.
"I stumbled across it by accident, and I can't believe there's no mention of me."
You did not read through three years' worth of archives. You did not.
"M. was away. I had a lot of free time," he says with an embarassed shrug. "But not one mention! I mean, we've shared stuff!"
So we have, Johnboy, like spit, during a recent murder mystery. Also, you happen to be one of my favorite former-YAE kids. Er, former kids.
Plus, you've read my archives. That alone earns you a mention. AND your own special code name.
....you'd think the second one would've ducked.