High society

After watching a few video clips of Gilbert Gottfried on the Internet, Kevin and I decided to go with the comedy club option for our date on Friday.  The announcer guy was pretty funny, especially the part about midgets; the intro act guy was funny, especially the part he did on midgets; and Gilbert Gottfried was…he was exactly like we saw in on the Internet (yes, including the part he did on midgets).  I mean,  he was exactly like we saw him on the Internet—word for word, pause for pause, head rub for head rub.  Seriously, I don’t know how this guy has any skin left on his forehead by now.  Anyway, you realize how much comedy is about the element of surprise when you watch an act that you laughed at that afternoon and that same evening it doesn’t even make you smile.

What our date was really about, though, was food.  The night started with a filet mignon and caramelized onion potatoes for her and “the world’s best burger” for him.  We chased it with a Kahlua-and-cream dessert drink and cream sherry.  As soon as we got up the next morning we went to Denny’s for matching grand slam breakfasts with strawberry milkshakes and gingerbread hush puppies on the side.   Oh man.  If Kevin and I had more babysitters we’d each weigh about 300 pounds.

The strangest thing happened at Denny’s though.  We’d been there several times before and always ate in the main room with all the other no-namers, but for some reason this time the waitress asked us if we wanted to dine in The Lounge.  I had always seen this door on the outside of Denny’s, painted bright red and with a sign declaring it CHEERS WEST.  But we were never dressed right or never smelled right sor omething because we had never been invited into The Lounge before.

But not Saturday.  No.  Saturday was OUR day.  The waitress took one look at us and ushered us back into a windowless room where everyone around us was drinking Bloody Marys and watching movies without the sound and the waitress seemed to know everyone’s name and the overweight mailman with the moustache at the bar was really quite funny.  It was a club!  A secret society!  A junior league of the elderly and depressed!  Like, I haven’t seen a club this tight since my high school formed a chastity club in the 90s.  I mean, you kind of got the feeling that the couple sitting across from us showed up for breakfast the morning after their wedding 50 years ago and just never left.

We’re still not sure why we were invited into the lounge.  Did we look especially old that morning?  Did they mistake Kevin’s four new caps on his front teeth for dentures?  Did we finally get that old people smell down just right?

Who knows.  All I know is that it’s been two days since we got invited into the Denny’s lounge and Kevin and I are actually still sitting here, ordering another round of Grand Slams, this time with the pancakes a little thicker and the butter on the side and—well, Carla knows how we like them.  All we have to do is wave a hand in her general direction and the pancakes come.  Kevin loves it here because every time he says one of his cheesy one-liners, someone presses the laugh track button for him.  I love it here because they said they’re going to add ice cream and caramel sauce to the hush puppies next week.

So, Mom?  Dad?  Give our best to the kids.

Does anyone else hear the Twilight Zone music?  Or is that just here in The Lounge…

Chicken with cranberry apple stuffing
Pumpkin Pie
(If, that is, we can get Carla to talk the head chef into it)


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