Weird Happy Hour Conversation

My girlfriend asked me to meet her at the local outside restaurant on a beautiful 70 degree March evening, where a glass of house wine is only $7.00, and the small bites are good. She wanted to discuss politics, the primaries the day before, and the future of America.

“Not Bernie!” she said.

“The Millennials are driving the bus,” I said.

“If Biden becomes the nominee, they will bail like 2016,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. ”Even my son voted yesterday, and he never votes.”

We left the politics on the table and switched to Quentin Tarantino movies.

She’s a fan. I’m not.

“They’re so gory,” I said.

“But he’s a genius,” she said.

“Or something is seriously wrong with him,” I said.

“You need to desensitize yourself to violence,”she said.

“Or not watch his movies.”

Then we switched to racism, Coronavirus, and death.

This was supposed to be happy hour. What happened to happy?

Oh, that’s right, I can’t drink alcohol anymore. My stomach says no way. It’s nights like tonight when I miss it most.

Then we discussed the spelling of towhead, as in a blond child.

“It’s toehead,” she said.

“It’s not,” I said.

“You can spell it either way,” she said.

“You can’t,” I said.

Again, no wine to make it less important.

She argued that blond hair looks like a toe. Had I been drinking, I might’ve started laughing. But I hadn’t been, and I didn’t.

What did I learn from the rather contentious toe/tow, race, politics, Quentin Tarantino conversation?

I really miss wine. And small bites after six. And laughing.

Laughing is so important.

This week I did taxes, took Sis to two doctor’s appointments, went to a chorus rehearsal, and did some random cleaning and sorting.

Summers are so much more fun than winters. There’s dancing and live music and more daylight.

Ah, daylight.

Daylight Savings begins this weekend. We spring ahead on Saturday night and lose an hour on our Sunday.  But it’s all good.

A lighter evening means more dog-walking time, more outside time, and two dogs that won’t wake me up at 6:30 a.m. It will be 7:30 a.m. for a while, until the longer days work it back to 6:30 again by early-summer.

My girlfriend just texted me a Wikipedia dictionary entry that has toehead as an entryI am appalled. The dumbing down of America.

I’m sorry.  Blond hair does not look like a big toe.

A glass of Pinot Grigio might’ve changed my mind on that, but, you know.



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