They say you see things differently in the full light of day. What they don’t tell you is how early the full light of day shines in your East facing bedroom window in June in Alabama. This would not have been a problem were it not for Senor Grouchy McGripeypants writhing and howling as if he were a vampire the sunlight disintegrated. Thankfully, all I had to do to escape those complaints was to roll out of bed, make myself decent and pour a cup of PREMADE coffee. Hubby’s Uncle 2 was bloody brilliant for that alone.
I took my breakfast of granola, Greek yogurt, and coffee out on the veranda overlooking the lake. It was so nice. It wasn’t too hot. The air wasn’t so humid you felt like you were being pressed into the dirt while breathing dirty pool water. I was thinking that this week might not be so bad. I was thinking how I could get used to this.
We had a good time chatting and catching up. I went inside to protect myself from the bugs and sun to knit and watch some Sci Fi. Things were going pretty well.
We went to eat supper at a local steak house. I enjoy a good steak. I was still enjoying the company. Things were going well.
In most good stories, you get to the big reveal and then realize that a seemingly trivial scene much earlier in the book gave a big clue about how things were going to end. For this saga, dinner at the Outlaw steakhouse was it. Much like the poor dopes in the novels, I had no idea this was it.
When I walked in, I noticed two things. I noticed that the restaurant was very pro-beer and had these monster beer glasses – not that I am anti-beer, but Hubby’s family reunions generally are. That much beer means that they make exponentially more money on the booze than the food. That much beer generally means people go there to drink more than they go there to eat. When we were seated, I noticed that they had a stage for a bar band. I began to have reservations, especially when two dudes started to get their gear out and set-up on stage.
We ordered. I was looking forward to my steak. I felt that I had earned it. I had ordered a strip, medium. Hubby began to grouse as he is not a fan of the beef, chicken or anything else they had on the menu. We waited for our entrees talking about a lot of different things. I was doing my best not to mention anything that the geniuses at a particular news channel my in-laws love might have pontificated upon. I was also doing my best to be rather circumspect about my job, only speaking in generalities about what it was I do on a daily basis.
Our food arrived. I quickly noticed two things. First, I noticed that my definition of a strip steak was vastly different from the restaurant’s definition of a strip steak. Their definition of a strip steak ran more toward the sirloin. I began to believe that was the only steak they had. Second, I noticed that my definition of medium was vastly different from the restaurant’s definition of medium. Their definition of medium ran more toward well done. I wanted to send it back, but determined that people who had that much confusion over cut and doneness of a steak probably would only fail a second time.
This was also the moment that the dudes who had been unloading and setting up their gear on the stage began to warm up. After hearing them sing a bit, I realized that the pro-beer status of the restaurant was more important that I had realized. The patrons drank enough of the aforementioned beer that the music sounded good.
Since we were south of Nashville, our dynamic duo sang country. I also realized that it must be a law in the state of Alabama that if you are a bar band in Alabama, you must know the entire Alabama (the group not the state) songbook.
Now, I am neutral when it comes to country music. Hubby most definitely is not. The more they sang, the more unhappy Hubby became. The more unhappy Hubby became, the more I had to hear about it. This was in super contrast to some of the others at the table who thought the singing was awesome.
We did make it to the parking lot before Hubby’s head exploded. We rode back to the lake house with Hubby talking about his experience of near doom at the restaurant. Personally, I am glad he made it out alive.
Back at the house, I pulled out my knitting and a book. I enjoyed the rest of the evening on the veranda knitting and reading, listening to the others talk. I was working to be on my best behavior. So far it was working. I even went to bed early, only to be awakened by Hubby shoving pillows in the row of windows above the regular windows with the shades on them. This could not be good.
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