A day that began with breakfast at Joe's Inn ended at Camden's for an "oyster informal," an evening of bubbles and bivalves.
With a reservation for three, we entered to find lots of people already indulging, so we claimed three bar stools and a bottle of champagne.
Over the course of the next few hours, I enjoyed Anderson's Neck oysters on the half shell and roasted with spinach, cheese and bacon.
There's really no way I won't eat these things.
No surprise, I talked to everyone I could find - the guy who'd just been down to New Orleans for his anniversary, the new Mom who had to leave before she finished eating, the tunic-wearer who'd matched her outfit to her lipstick.
I met a Saints fan, talked to a guy who thought fried chicken and champagne were the perfect pairing (agreed) and a woman who hated oysters but came anyway.
Meanwhile the Anderson's Neck people shucked non-stop and we ate pretty much at the same rate.
A friend had wanted to join me this evening until a nest of wasps had attacked her yesterday, but I'd promised to eat oysters and drink bubbly in her honor since she couldn't.
"Thank you for falling on that sword for me. XXXOXX," she'd written from her swollen bedside.
The music had begun with the Replacements and stayed in that era for the most part (R.E.M., Echo and the Bunnymen, Joy Division, the Cure), keeping things lively if a tad old-school and eventually working its way around, appropriately, to solo Paul Westerburg.
Do you remember me long ago
I used to wear my heart on my sleeve
I guess it still shows
My little group switched to Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace brut not long before the focus of the evening changed from bivalves to football.
Since the Redskins were playing the Cowboys, the plan was for those so inclined to stick around after the oyster informal and eat wings and watch large men crash into each other.
As an extra incentive, anyone who wore a Redskins jersey got their first half dozen wings for free.
Well, you didn't think I was going to pass up an opportunity for free food, did you?
Negative. I'd made sure to borrow a Mark Rypien jersey (Redskins quarterback 1986-93), putting it on post-oysters and pre-game.
The friend on my right immediately exclaimed, "I need to take a picture!" followed by another woman at the end of the bar saying the same thing. Say cheese.
You'd think it was a big deal for me to wear a football jersey or something.
My wings arrived shortly thereafter with what my friend called the best blue cheese dressing she'd ever inhaled.
And she should know because she ate all of ours and most of what belonged to the guy next to me as well (he offered it up, having eaten two celery sticks, his quota he said).
The wings were every bit as good as the killer dressing and we polished them off in short order, only to watch the Skins fall to the Cowboys.
Not my fault, I did my part. I wore the jersey and unfortunately, now there's a picture of me to prove it.
That's the last time I'll wear my