Heading to the mansion on Church Hill through construction traffic, I saw a license plate that said it all: "ETA soon." That said, it took me 40 minutes to traverse the couple of miles from Jackson Ward.
Fortunately, there was wine awaiting me, specifically the Danielle de l'Ansee Sauvignon Blanc Pru had fallen in love with last month, and three people who loved to talk. As if by a fashion directive, the day's lingering heat had resulted in all the women sporting paper-thin cotton dresses with boho roots in the styles of the '70s.
The evening of spirited conversation covered topics was as varied as the people in the room. A discussion of old-fashioned sleep bras led to a male guest positing that perhaps he should wear a sleep cup. "A sleep cod piece!" Pru interjected, no doubt inspired by our upcoming plans to see "Hamlet" at Agecroft.
Our hostess, who has gone on record as saying she could exist solely on hors d'oeuvres, laid out a tasty spread of same, including what the former Mexico dweller dubbed "a salad on bread," a savory layering of guacamole, radishes and hard cooked eggs on toasted baguettes adorned with EVOO and smoked sea salt that made for a practically perfect flavor combination with just the right amount of chew.
The music was vintage soul and while it wasn't quite a dance party (other than our dance moves riding the new stair lift), Al Green, the O'Jays and Aretha provided a rollicking soundtrack to the evening, sometiems lost under the raucous laughter.
It was while drinking Argyle Sparkling Brut Rose, an offering from the recent Oregon outing, that it was agreed by everyone in the room that while Pru comes across as sweet and low key, she's really every bit as much an
During a dedicated fashion discussion (hello, palazzo pants' comeback), Pru's Beau looked surprisingly interested, a fact we attributed to his female-centric upbringing. He's that rare male who not only notices hair and clothing changes and looks, but kindly mentions them to the woman rather than keeping them to himself. That's a man who'll go far with my people.
Our little group got along so well we wound up making plans to see a couple of Irish plays dubbed O'Theater at O'Toole's, an evening bound to be a blast in the back room. Fish and chips ought to be just the right accompaniment.
Maybe it was bottle number three - Miraval Rose - talking, but we got off on the topic of senior sex - how we're all hoping there's no cut-off point for a sex life's regularity. Needless to say, my randy parents came up as examples of making adjustments to keep things frisky.
I'm sure I was a bad influence, keeping the 9 to 5 set at the party up far too late, but then, isn't that why people invite me over for a nibble and a nip in the first place? I'll bet they were in bed before I crested the hill.
Heading westward ho, I had to pass right by Patrick Henry Pub and since I couldn't think of a single reason not to stop, I did. Within a minute of walking in I had an Espolon and within three minutes, a guy who works as an illustrator at the Martin Agency had come over to join me for conversation.
I guess I'd turned on my forehead sign "Talk to Me" without realizing it.
It worked out well because he'd lived in Portland briefly so we had lots to talk about comparing the two cities, praising Richmond's superiority and its lively arts scene before moving on to chatting abut each other's lives as the bar carried on around us. I'd lucked into a terrific conversationalist.
All because of a nibble and a nip, as the invitation promised, at Pru's, It may not be on my license plate, but ETA: Whenever I get home.
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