|Report From the Wagon, Part 1
||[Jul. 21st, 2004|11:49 pm]
By all rights it should have been a bad day - and, in fact, parts of it were.
Work started well, but I was hung over and grew frustrated with small things. Worse, a call came in at almost exactly 5:00, from someone in Nunavut with whom I'd been playing phone tag - call took forty minutes, so I didn't leave the office until not too far off 6:00.
Walked up to Queen, whence I'd left my bike parked last night, not in the mood for riding after however many pints I'd consumed. I glanced at my usual table on the patio at Gorilla Monsoons and (yes) the idea that I might enjoy a hair of the dog occurred to me.
However, I rode home like a good boy.
Only to be tempted again, this time by my impish young friend, Vern, whom I hadn't seen for a couple of weeks, and who wondered whether I might be interested in quaffing an ale with him at the rather amazing patio at Cadillac Lounge.
Ah, Gentle Readers, you know where this is going, don't you?
No you don't.
I did agree to the tryst, but I am pleased to report that only the carbonated goodness of club soda wet my whistle, this evening.
And, truthfully, it wasn't hard at all. Instead, I kept exclaiming upon how nice it was to be out and about, knowing I would feel good in the morning. (Fancy that!)
We had a good time, despite nearly depressing one another with the state of the (American) union and its incompetent jackboots stomping across far too much of the world.
And parted, he only slightly tipsy and me, well, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
And the morning and the evening were the first day.
Sleep well, folks; I'm pretty certain that I will.