Well, now THAT’S a first for even me.

Apparently, you just put a little duct tape on the car and the redneck comes out in a girl.

Note: The car gets dropped off at the body shop this weekend so they can start fixing the window first thing Monday. Thank the Sweet Lord above.

My girlfriends and I love to catch up over a good meal. And it’s usually a meal that someone ELSE has slaved over. I don’t cook, so eating out happens quite a bit for this social butterfly.

And since K was going to have business downtown on Friday and wondered if I’d join her for an early evening dinner, I eagerly agreed. We met right after work when NO ONE was in the restaurant.  We had a lovely table by a large window and well, the conversation and carbs started flowing.

Our waiter was top notch. Describing the evening’s specials had the poeticism of a Shakespearean monologue. We were impressed. Yet to his disappointment and aggrivation, I’m sure, we orderd small salads and a side item each.  To our industrious minds, this meant splitting a desert would be less weighty on the waist and wallet.

We continued to chat.  There was so much catching up to do.  I mean it had been a whole five days since we’d seen each other.  That’s a lot of missed conversation in the female world.

At one point in the evening we briefly mentioned it was probably time to get going when one of us thought of another brilliant story that MUST be told right then and there.

Then a gentleman wearing a tie (ie. the MANAGER) came over to us.  Instantly we knew we were in trouble.  He began an awkward sentance when we both – grabbing our purses – interrupted him with apologies for overstaying our welcome.  He assured us we weren’t at all.  However, he did have a rather large party of rather hungry guests.  He needed our table in order to seat the party in our otherwise reserved section of the now hopping restaurant.  I looked at my watch. 

We had been sitting there for almost three hours.  Oh, yes we had.

The manager had two seats ready for us near the bar and offered us free everything if we’d graciously move.

We declined, desiring nothing but a quick getaway, saving what face we had.  I think I even put on my sunglasses before we ever stepped outside.

Before we could make our escape, the kind manager gave us each a coupon for a free appetizer upon our next visit.    Which I’m sure will not happen for, oh say, at least another 20 years.

We sped out of the place stopping in the parking lot long enough to look at each other in wide-eyed in shock. 

Did that REALLY just happen?  Did we actually just get kicked out of a restaurant?

Apparently we like to combine the fine art of dining with camping out.

Yeah, not one of our finer moments.  But you wanna know a little secret? 

Three hours is not even my record.

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