It was just a Thursday night, a school night, so to speak. An old acquaintance, George described it like an article from Wine Spectator. He had certain cylinders that met the criteria for corkage on a Thursday night, but they weren’t of a vintage fit for a Friday or Saturday night, especially with your best girl. These “Thursday night wines” are OK, just not worth celebrating.
Surprising me with an arrival before the floated time of “around 8,” she looked beautiful in black Capri’s and grey sweater over a black lace trimmed camisole. Since her definition of “around 8,” typically falls on the dark side of the snowman, I hadn’t even begun watching water boil for the tortellini in lemon-butter-garlic-pepper sauce with green beans and Prosciutto, but that’s not important right now. I poured us some Saturday night Chardonnay and we got to chatting and laughing. She deferred a workday story until Megan got home, and then dumped it on us about how you have to deal with shit some days at work, and for her, this was literally one of those days. Apparently, someone dropped a small nugget in the ladies room at her office, and after the facilities guy feigned fainting to avoid stooping and scooping, my poor girl had to perform an unpleasant “other doodies as assigned.”
The crappy story didn’t hinder the girls gastronomics as they quietly disposed of the tortellini, Caprese salad and fresh Italian Sesame Seminola bread. Yeah, it was just a Thursday night, but we only have so many of them, so when you’re taking care of those you love, you go all out, don’t you, no matter what the day or lack of occasion, right? You don’t? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am just a “mushhead” who “loves unicorns and rainbows,” but when I see her, even on an unexceptional Thursday night, I am moved. After joking about the early arrival, I hugged her and said, “It’s still a big deal for me to see you.”