My World and Welcome To It

Surreal:  \sə-ˈrēal/
weirdly unfamiliar, bizarre, fantastic

A perfectly lovely evening ended on a perfectly surreal note.

But I'll get to that.

I had plans to meet friends at Bonvenu and waited for the worst of the thunderstorm's rain to end before driving over.

What's the point in dressing cute if I'm going to arrive looking like a drowned rat?

Two of the three  friends I was meeting were walking out as I pulled up.

Seems that the pouring rain had come through the ceiling into Bonvenu's kitchen twenty minutes earlier.

Dinner was no longer being served.

Plan B was Rowland's and although they were wildly busy, there were four barstools available and that's all we needed.

A bottle of Charles Krug Sauvignon Blanc was poured and another couple put on ice for the near future.

Like everywhere in town lately, softshells were a special, but since I've had them four times in a few weeks, I instead chose the seared diver scallops with sweet plantains, cilantro mojo and quinoa with sofrito.

Those with me enjoyed a special of flounder stuffed with local crabmeat, a seafood (squid! lobster! scallops! shrimp!) linguine and the massive pecan-crusted pork chop.

During the course of the evening, I was introduced to the chef's recently transplanted brother with the mortifying qualifier, "And she's single!"

Luckily we both ignored that and discussed instead the varied places where he's lived (San Diego, Puerto Rico, Peru) and his dislike of Richmond's summer bug season.

I'd met my friends for dinner as a prelude to going to see the Picasso show on its last night.

It was my third time, but my friend's first and the other two had been.

As a bonus, we managed to convince Chef Virginia to join us.

And although I had a a ticket for the 9:30 viewing, it was way after 10 before I got out of there, as my server (who also works at Amuse) pointedly reminded me.

It was fun going through the exhibit with first-timers and interesting to see the variety of people there with us, including far more children than I would have expected given the hour.

A fair number of people were dressed up for the occasion, with some women wearing fancy dresses and very high heels.

You know, perfect choices for an eleven-gallery stroll with hundreds of other people.

But the energy in the galleries was terrific as everyone seemed jazzed by being in the museum late and taking in the once-in-a-lifetime show.

I was glad I'd decided to be a part of it.

It was after midnight when we finally walked out and I was pleased that it was still nice out since I hadn't brought a wrap.

(Begin surrealistic period)

As I was driving up Monument Avenue, the light at Robinson changed and I stopped.

The car next to me beeped at me, so I rolled down my window.

"Hi! I'm a musician from DC and I saw you back at the museum and I think you're just beautiful. Can I give you my card and see you sometime?"

Not what I was expecting.

I had figured him for a lost museum visitor seeking directions.

Or maybe I had a brake light out.

But this...?

"No, really," he said, pulling on something. "See, here's my sax. I was down here doing a gig. Then I went to the museum."

He held up the case and began pulling out his sax.

No, no, don't show me your sax.

"Do you always stop strange woman and talk to them at this hour?" I asked, amazed at what was happening.

"No, but I couldn't let you drive away and not try to speak to you."

He got out, handed me his card and introduced himself.

"If I thought you'd say yes, I'd put on some music and ask you to dance with me on the sidewalk," he said as if that was a normal thing to suggest.

My look must have conveyed my answer because words were escaping me.

"Please call me. I would love spending time getting to know you."

"Goodnight," I said and drove away, my head spinning with the oddness of what had just happened.

Maybe it was seeing Picasso for the third time that caused some of his surrealistic influences to bleed over into my life.

Because that just may be the most bizarre, fantastic and weirdly unfamiliar thing that's ever happened to me, and I've had some doozies.

But dancing on the sidewalk after midnight?

Touché.