Something Fishy

Well my hair is washed already, and I’m actually kind of bored tonight. Of course there are 7 million things I could and should be working on, but Friday night feels like a requisite night of fun and relaxation.

Last Friday, Pesto and I were in Boston. We’d had a lovely day of strolling around and decided to head out to the oldest restaurant in the US (allegedly) for some seafood. We had to wait a bit for our table so we decided to have a drink and some oysters in the bar. The oysters were great, and I think with repeated exposure, I am actually starting to like them. I rarely get sick, but every so often I get really tired and a little achy or sniffly for a day or two. About halfway through my gin and tonic I started to feel my entire body shutting down. I think I was even slurring my words.

We got our table and decided to order a bottle of wine. As soon as it came I knew it was game over for me. I couldn’t even finish my G&T. I had to tell Pesto that I was exhausted and needed to get to bed ASAP. So we ate our dinner really quickly and made our way back to the hotel. It just made sense that Pesto would be drinking the entire bottle of wine (in the span of about 25 minutes). We’re best friends, and we help each other out. Plus, to waste is a terrible thing.

It’s like the time in high school when we were on an “awareness trip” in the Dominican Republic and billeted with a local family. We would do our best every day to eat the food that was put in front of us. At the time Pesto was “allergic” to fish. We were served what we thought (based on our inability to speak any Spanish at that time) was a large chunk of deep fried fish. I have never seen Pesto so panicked in the entire time I’ve known her. She begged me to eat both of our meals. I felt sick just thinking about it, but I told her I would do my best. As I bit into that greasy battered log, a wonderful thing happened, I realized it was fried cheese. This is horrifying from a nutritional perspective but, as I recall, we were both overjoyed.

Anyway, I’ve digressed considerably.

We got back to the room and I tucked into my luxury bed, which had been subject to turn down service. It was lights out for me immediately. Poor Pesto. When I woke up on Saturday morning she asked me if I’d heard her barfing the night before. Of course I did not. I would’ve gotten up to make sure she was okay and then maybe put her to bed in the recovery position. She was reading her book in bed and began to have a wicked case of the spins. What a terrible feeling. She then proceeded to barf up the entire contents of her seafood feast, which is probably a good thing since she was apparently allergic to fish at one time.

So this Friday night is not nearly so exciting. I should’ve made plans to head down to Toronto as it is my brother’s bday tomorrow and my parents are going to be there. But I thought it would be better to just lay low. Now I feel lonely and kind of wish I’d gone. Maybe I could drive down tomorrow after my ski lesson. We'll see.

I will probably go to the gym tonight. The gym is my friend. There is a community of exercise addicts that meets there regularly. They are kind of freaky people. They sort of remind me of the characters in that John Irving book....which one again...Hotel New Hampshire? Did that book have a midget, sorry, a little person, in it? Well freaky or not, at least I will not be out with Mr. Dine and Dash and his mother...

wishing you all a night of fun,

TT