I am celebrating Fat Tuesday by drinking a Fat Tire beer. I'm sure the beer nor the company have no affiliation with Mardi Gras, New Orleans or anything remotely related to the Catholic Church, but it does have the word Fat in it so I'm assuming most Americans will forgive me because we seem to have such a love affair with fat anyway.
And instead of being at a bar hoping erroneously that some woman will lift her top, I am sitting on my couch getting fat.
I should have been playing poker but I was not willing to cut my time with Monkey short, even if she did trounce me in Scrabble. I could have been drinking in Joliet at the one bar I find tolerable out there with one of the handful of people I find tolerable out there, but after spending the evening discussing responsiblity and the future with my daughter I found it harder to spend the night drinking when I know I have to work at 11am.
Although it seems the Matador has not completely given up on me and as we speak is trying to twist my arm long distance. Not as effective as in person but seeing as I have the world's most twistable arm he still may be able to accomplish my goal. My fear of course is that he will be shit faced by the time I arrive and I will just end up taking him home and sitting in his living room watching movies until 4am.
Wish me luck.