Monday, January 24, 2011
Marriage 301, Lecture 869: Maybe if I get drunk
SH and I had a fancy evening on Friday, just the thing to get us ready for the Big Game on Sunday, which required that we pray for a Packers victory at church on Saturday evening and by golly it worked.
SH won us a Secret Society Dinner at the Patron Social Club. Go to the link and join so you can win when they come to your town. If you don't, SH will run downstairs while you are minding your own business, reading a book, living your gold-digger life, to tell you that you have to sign up RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW! even when you whine and say, "Can't you see I'm BUSY?"
We met at the Iron Horse Hotel at 6:30, where we awaited further instruction via text. As I do not text, mostly on principle* but also because we do not have a text plan on our phone so it costs us extra every time, we just piggybacked on our 28 fellow secret diners to find out that we were indeed supposed to board the two party buses that were parked outside, just as we suspected.
I was pleased to see that my fellow Milwaukee diners had heeded the instructions in the email and worn "cocktail attire." There are those who might think, "when I'm at home, I drink cocktails while I'm wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, hence sweatshirt and jeans are cocktail attire," but not in Milwaukee. We might wear Crocs to church ("we" = "really tacky people"), but when the occasion demands, we rise to it.**
I myself was in the stylish red wool dress that SH had neglected to inform me was unzipped when we went to the theater (a location that, alas, does not seem to demand dress-up clothing from Other People, but SH and I make ourselves look right smart). SH wore the suit he was married in. Married to me, that is. I think he wore his tux (which still fits him) in his first wedding.
The bus took us to a surprise location: the North Point Lighthouse, which I have been dying to visit as we are slight lighthouse junkies. We walked into a room lit only by tiny candles everywhere. Right away, waiters gave us a Patron cocktail. Yes, this whole thing is about Patron trying to expand the tequila market and show people that tequila is not just for shooting and getting drunk and throwing up as in The Great Tequila Disaster of '87, but those days are way past me, but also for mixed drinks.
I am not a big drinker. I am not a tequila drinker. Anymore. It had been over 20 years since I last had tequila. But I sipped the cocktail and it was good.
We had two appetizers and a different cocktail with each. Then we sat for supper. Had soup and a cocktail. Salad and a cocktail. Entree and a cocktail. Dessert and a cocktail.
SH and I got only one of each drink between us because we needed to stay sober. I wasn't tempted to drink much of most of them, but the hot apple cider/tequila combo was pretty yummy.
I was sitting next to one of the Patron folks, a supercutie whose dad was Cuban so we talked about politics and Cuban food. There are some advantages to being a certain age and married: you can talk to the really cute single guys without worry of rejection. It's not flirting because, hey, I have my super-hot SH at my other side so obviously I'm not looking and plus, who would think a cute 30 year old would be interested in a Woman of a Certain Age anyhow? Quite liberating.
The evening ended with SH and me being interviewed about the dinner, partly, I think, because we looked so sharp. We might make it to the Patron website.
* Also because I am too lazy to hit a key three times to get to the letter I want. And because I dislike the abbreviations. I am not as bad as SH, though, who is incapable of writing an email that goes, "Are you guys coming to the party tonight?" but instead must compose of a missive in which he inquires about the state of You guys' health, comments on the weather, explains that we are going to the party, expresses the wish that You guys are going to the party, then finally, after three paragraphs of fluff, gets to the point.
** Although all the women were wearing boots. Nice boots, high-heeled boots, but boots nonetheless. We might want to look nice, but we are not willing to sacrifice our nice shoes to the sludge in order to do so. Nor are we willing to let our feet freeze for fashion's sake.