Why is it when you order a double of anything at a bar it costs three times as much? If I had ordered a triple Jack and Coke, I would still be making payments now to avoid some loan shark appearing at my door with steel bat in hand, charging interest and “ice and straw” fees.
I met up with Tack and Anthony at Finn MacCools in the U-District this weekend, only to be thrown out because we were too young for the AARP convention going on inside. When one geriatric pulled the tennis ball off his walker and flung it at me, I knew it was time to go.
We made it down the block to the Old College Inn. I was still pregnant when the Washington smoking ban took effect and so I spent a lot of time here eating phenomenal chili and drinking Shirley Temples. This time, we had a beer and talked smack about old fogies with their candle-making supplies and Christmas cards with five dollar checks inside.
If you’re wondering where Nathan was in all of this, he was still in the car, strapped into his Britax. But I left the engine on so I would still be in the running for Mother of the Year.