Yesterday, Saturday, was glorious. Joan worked in her garden, and I mowed the lawn on the Deere. I felt pretty good since I skimped on one of my cancer meds in the morning. Afterwards, Joan and I drove a half-mile (or less) to the strip mall near our house to have a “sit down” dinner. Hadn’t done that in ages.
We ate at one of these fake, but family run, Japanese places where they serve sushi (which I will never eat) and all sorts of other food. Actually pretty nice inside. I had lobster and shrimp and Joan had chicken. It was all cooked in front of us on a huge hot plate by a Mexican man of about 30 (with tats on his knuckles). He was great. Flames. Knives in the air. Cheesy jokes for the old white guy and lady. The whole nine yards. I suppose he gave us a real show because he was bored. Joan and I were the only ones in the place. I even had a half glass of wine which would not have pleased the cancer doc.
We left a big tip for the knife wielding fellow who cooked our meal and the young (“no problem”) redhead who took our order and served our drinks with her cracked fingernails painted an iridescent shade of an unknown color that clashed with her kimono. We were home by 6:30 PM. Japan it was not, but fun it was.
Some things are more important than others.