Before I could get to cooking this week’s menu, I had to take Miss Pooch for her evening constitutional. She shamelessly flirted with two gentlemen we encountered at the corner of Park and Vine. We chit chatted about whether the stout one should risk having an allergy attack to pet her, while the other one, who was older and skinnier, swayed a bit as he stood. At first I thought he might have been recovering from a stroke, but quickly realized there were other forces at work. They weren’t quite scruffy enough to be homeless, but each was missing a tooth or two, and they looked like they had seen some things.
The conversation went like this:
Guy 1: “You’ll have to excuse us, miss. We were just at a friend’s house, having a little fun.”
Guy 2: “What he’s trying to say is, we’re DRUNK!’
Me: “Hey, it’s Saturday night. Nothing wrong with that. You aren’t hurting anybody.”
#1: “Plus, it’s spring, right?”
Me: “That’s right!”
#1, petting dog’s ears: “I was married to a dog once.”
#2: “Did you hear what he said?! He said he was married to a dog!!!!”
#1: “Well, I had to take care of her, and brush her hair….”
#2, looking at me very earnestly: “I don’t mind being high, but I HATE being drunk!………….
…..OK. We have to go home and argue now.”