I was kind enough to take Sarah upon a date yesterday for her birthday (contrary to what many Porter family members think, her birthday isn't actually until tomorrow, July 17th). I graciously allowed Sarah to select the restaurant for the evening. She selected a nice little place I like to call "Sweet Tomatoes." This was my first time eating at said restaurant and I was a bit nervous as was to be expected on my first time. Lucky for me, they had a sign that said, "Lettuce know if it's your first time." (It actually said "Let us" but based on what they serve there, I took the liberty of adding life to the phrase). This took away much of my anxiety and allowed me to enjoy the experience and just let myself go a little more after having it explained to me. Sweet Tomatoes, in layman's terms, is an all-you-can eat restaurant that serves great salads (including buffalo chicken salads!!!), pastas and baked goods. Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed my first time.
I considered this restaurant to be a great, healthy idea of a restaurant. However, when I got up to get some more food, I began to look around at the other guests. To my dismay, there were many horizontally blessed individuals (politically correct term) accompanying us that evening. They were filling their plates beyond capacity and bumping people out of the way when the serving dishes were down to one item. We were surrounded. Behind us, some horizontally blessed (hb) guests were discussing the food they were eating as well as the fattening food they had recently eaten at another restaurant. Here I thought it was a healthy restaurant, but I was proven wrong by the amount that was being piled away. Don't get me wrong, I did my fair share of eating, but what they were packing away would have even impressed Shamu. After our desert, we bid our hb friends a fond farewell or so we thought.
For the second part of the date, Sarah and I ventured to the mini-golf course around the corner from the restaurant. Sarah loves her mini-golf, especially when she beats me. For the first 9 holes, Sarah was, to put it technically, kicking my trash. She was very excited when she scored a hole-in-one. I wasn't mad, no, actually I was impressed. Then the game changed. The holes became more difficult and Sarah was toilet-bowling (for correct definition see Webster's dictionary) almost every shot that was near the hole. She was becoming furious, as Mr. Furious would say. She even threatened hitting me in the rearend if you can believe that. Yet the culminating point of the game came on hole #17. Sarah's first shot was pretty good and close to the hole, but her second shot pulled left and she screamed out a mormon-style profanity where you leave out the big words and a kid that was walking by said, "Whoa, 10 year old present, lady!" (I do have to add that she didn't say anything bad, she left that to the imagination and she was kidding around, she didn't 'pop-a-vein' which may have been a good blogger name for one member of this family that we will just call Mr. B or Poppa V).
After our intense mini-golf game, which I might add I won, Sarah had to visit the little-golfer's room to sink another hole-in-one. While she was in there, I was entertained by three hb girls waiting for their friend who they said was making a "boo-boo" in there. Then they discussed the different words you could use for poo. I could have joined them to mention a few they left out, but I chose to refrain myself. Nevertheless, I was brought in to the conversation when one of the girls said, "Mister, I'm sorry you have to listen to this immature stuff." Then one of the hb girls came and sat next to me and said, "how you doing? Sorry about my friends." It was at this point that I was about to crack up laughing and praying that Sarah would come out soon. Luckily, Sarah came out and I got up. My new friend exclaimed, "Ahhh, now I'm all alone again." What a great way to finish a remarkable date! To any out there that found hb to be offensive, I do apologize for having taken the last piece of pepperoni pizza last night.
Love,
tp