Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Bend Over, Baby!

Last night, Jamie and I took advantage of the buffet at the Pizza Inn in Madison (the city). It so happens that every other Tuesday, customers of this fine establishment are serenaded by a gracious gentleman, his guitar, and accompaniment tracks. Hey, there's nothing better than eating pizza and listening to a redneck version of 80's hits. Last night, Pizza Inn contained a variegated slice of America: the overweight man who resembled Larry Csonka, the single mom with three kids, the blue collar worker with his wife and son and daughter, Jamie (just a small town girl) and I (rebel without a cause), and the carefree manager who was proud of himself for bringing in this entertainer. Ahhh...the glories of our fruited plains.

While we were eating in our booth, Jamie somehow managed to kick me in the shin....without warning. I screamed (it probably sounded like this)! Nobody heard me though because of the music (and people trying to talk over the music). Jamie profusely apologized to me, and I, in my jovial and pensive way, agreed to accept the apology under one condition: I told her she needed to bend over and kiss my shin.

Jamie wanted to oblige, but again because of the loud music, (and the loud people) she didn't hear the terms of the apology. So pointing to my shin, I said, "You need to bend over and kiss it." I have a quiet speaking voice...she didn't hear me...and the loud music, you know. So I essentially shouted, "You need to bend over and kiss it."

Unfortunately, the gracious gentleman serenading us finished singing "Margaritaville" immediately before I shouted my exhortation. Talk about throwing cold water on a good time. I got some odd looks from the folks around me. I felt compelled to explain myself to the other customers, but I decided to endure the consequence. And so what if a few families around us with small children got up and moved to another table?

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