Lacking any outward talent regarding the game of golf, I've discovered that I can pretend to be a better golfer by buying things that make me look like a better golfer, and by talking about things that make me sound like a better golfer. Whilst wearing my Tiger Woods-brand hat and corresponding golf outfit, I can speak authoritatively on the virtues of 8620 carbon-steel forged iron heads, and it doesn't really matter that I may as well be using small cats instead of golf balls when I get out to the course. I must be good - I mean...look at me. The only problem with this strategy is that it's no secret, and there are other golfers who are better at it than I am. Thus, my fullacrapness is quickly and devastatingly exposed, making for some very awkward moments as I shuffle away, backwards, while trying not to make eye contact with the higher caste liars.
That is not the topic today, however.
See, yesterday, my darling wife, Julia (being the exquisite specimen of wifeliness that she is), met me at a golf shop near my work and hung out while I bought yet another, absolutely essential-to-own wedge. Afterwards, we went to eat at a really very nice new restaurant called Mimi's Cafe.
Having ingested dangerous quantities of caffeine earlier in the day to facilitate her homework-doings, Julia was just about to crash, and crash hard. It was just a matter of time. We had to eat quickly and get back to the house before her brain deflated with a faint wheezing sound, leaving me to carry her back to the car. We almost made it, too. We got all the way to the dessert menu, when my beautiful, loving wife pointed at a picture of a chocolate pecan pie with very wide, excited eyes and (misreading the menu) said to me: "BANASTER'S FAUNA!!!"
She meant bananas foster. Only she didn't, because she wanted the pecan pie. A moment of awkward silence and raised eyebrows (on my part) passed, and that was it. She was gone. In a spray of giggles and tears, my wife had left the planet. I still don't know who this "Banaster" guy is, or what kinds of animals he's shilling. We ordered the pie.
Living with a brainal-retentive librarian-to-be has its risks, obviously. The least of which is the full-time risk of her unusually feisty and brilliant brain going "PFFFT!" and powering down until it cools off. A ticking time-bomb, to be sure.
But for now, when life has got you down, and reality is kickin' you in the kidneys, shout out to the world, "BANASTER'S FAUNA!!!" and somehow, someway, things will improve.
S
Banasters Fauna: it's like a Spoonerism, wrapped in an old-west TV show, drizzled over a speech impediment, with a side of young deer. Tasty.
ReplyDeleteCan I have a Peptchee please? Shhhhure!
That's excellent! I had envisioned a cocktail of various animal legs, supporting a scoop of old-fashioned vanilla ice cream. Drizzle the whole thing with Cholula and caramel, and there you have it - Banaster's Fauna.
ReplyDeleteI figure that only hyper-conservative right-wing Christians, with a penchant for wearing camoflage and shooting wall-mountable mammals would order it, so it's not a popular menu item. Until, that is, you come and visit us here in Round Rock, Texas.
Ah, Round Rock...where Coors is more than just a beer - it's a way of life.
So ... Sam, Julia. Let's do something ... I work across the street from Sam. Julia: When you have a day off the three of us can eat a Mimi's cafe. Or chipolte. Or Potbelly's OR we can brown bag it and eat in the pretty courtyard of Sam's office. I feel like Ryan has the lovelyness that is S&J all to himself.
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