I deflowered another lobster roll virgin at the Black Sheep today. My friend Holly got tired of hearing me rave about this succulent sandwich, so we met for lunch so she could find out for herself why I've been raving (besides my usual rants, of course) about it. Problem was, I've had at least five lobster rolls in recent weeks and you can't eat one AND eat dessert, so I had the lovely Piggy Bank salad (spinach, mozzarella, peaches, nuts and Virginia ham) so that I could have room for a La Brea Tarpit (chocolate creme brulee). I took crap from my favorite waitress just last week when I finished my lobster roll and was unable to order dessert. "What do you mean, you're not having dessert?" Melissa demanded. "You always get chocolate!" And she wasn't even our waitress; she just noticed my omission.
The game plan for this evening was set: drinks with Former Co-Worker and then the opening at Metro Space Gallery... except that a certain overly nice Gemini restaurant owner sat down just as Co-Worker was leaving after two hours and we were off and running. Five hours, much wine, assorted apps and countless shared stories later, we came up for air. Fortunately, we were out on the patio by this time enjoying the night air and the parade of humanity on the sidewalk.
But best of all, we already had plans for Saturday night, so tonight's prelude was just a cosmic bonus. My plans gone awry yielded a delightful evening; to quote the poet Robert Burns:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley.
Amen to that.
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