This would be a classic example of the rhetorical device known as the double entendre. Go Wilkinson blades!
I finally got around to doing a good cleaning of my kitchen floor after its run-in with my washing machine overflow, probably a month ago now. After that, I got the table moved back where it belongs, and some of my piles of paper that were residing on a TV tray boxed up. Yay!
I ran to the store at about 4:00 to get some hamburger buns and potato salad, and ended up with a big pile of vegetables with which to make a nice fresh chopped salad.
Robert prepared the grill, uncovered the patio bar furniture to make it presentable enough on which to have dinner (including brushing off all the pollen and general schmutz built up on it from over the winter) and then grilled the Omaha Steak burgers and sesame hamburger buns. In the meantime, I went to town dicing up cucumbers, an orange pepper, a yellow pepper, a green pepper, mushrooms, celery, onion, Gherkin pickles, carrots, and broccoli and in mixing them all together in two huge bowls realized that I didn’t have two things that really make the salad: pineapple tidbits and raisins. Grrrr!
I put the salad aside, and we enjoyed the most delicious grilled burgers with the potato salad. I had my burger with a dollop of Bulls Eye Barbecue Sauce, a brushing of mayo, and a little ketchup. Yum. Yum. Yum!
Robert brought over some of his freshly-made, most-delicious caramel candies, and that’s what we had for dessert. Out of this world!
After dinner, I ran back to the grocery store and picked up some pineapple and raisins and added that to the salad when I got home. That’ll be good for lunch tomorrow—giving time for all of those flavors to mingle.
We worked on an Indy crossword puzzle right up until 8:30, when we headed to Flex for dancing.
It was pretty tragic there, in terms of any other dancers showing up (Carl and Bill are still on their cruise), but eventually Steven came, so we had enough folks to dance. It actually turned out pretty well; we chose only dances that all three of us knew, so we pretty much all danced all night long—well until they stopped us at 10:30, like they always do on Saturdays.
Early in the night, there was this pitiful guy who came over to talk first to Robert and then to both of us. He was so drunk that at one point he dropped his still burning cigarette, and bending over three times he tried to pick it up, but it kept slipping out of his fingers. The third time he tried, his fingers were so close to the burning end that I thought he was going to burn them. That was just before he lost his balance from being bent over so long that he fell a little forward coming within an inch or so of banging his head on the nearby brick wall. Can you say plastered?
“I’ve been to three bars tonight, and I’ve been ignored in every single one of them,” he slurred with a breath odor of about 1.6, twice the legal limit in North Carolina. Tragic.
We stayed for about 45 minutes after dancing stopped, and then headed home.