|...Somewhere between "oompa loompa doompadee doo" and an encore of "Swingin'" the waitress brought out our order. I had ordered an entree-size Cheddar and BBQ overstuffed baked potato and Friend had the Fettuccine Alfredo. The waitress gave me another look and said, "Are you related to Don that works at the bank?" she asked.
"Nope, but I know who he is," I replied. "Man, you sure look familiar!"
"Well, the only other place you might know me is from Weight Watchers. I gave it up about three years ago when my kids started growing. Can't you tell? My ass is bigger than the buffet over at the Chinese place across town."
That comment left me slightly rattled and the only thing I could think of was how many points did my super stuffed potato have. (I was a Weight Watcher dropout too) "How many points do you think this potato has?" I asked.
"All of 'em, I'd say. But it doesn't matter because no one is watching. You enjoy your meal."
After a few minutes of silence (the DVD player stopped working and the country singer had ended his gig) we had eaten most of our food when we heard another round of music coming from elsewhere in the restaurant. Suddenly, I heard a banjo, then a fiddle. Next, was a bass and then something like a mandolin and before you knew it they took off on the "Foggy Mountain Breakdown." It was Bluegrass music and they were good, really good.
I sat through that song but when they broke out another fiddle and started playing "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" I couldn't stay in my seat any longer; I wanted to see them. It was a young, family group and they each took turns playing the different instruments and singing the lead and harmonizing.
I had a hard time not busting a move when they played "Cotton-Eyed Joe;" I didn't think the whole restaurant wanted to see me clog. However, it did cross my mind that if I clogged, I could gain a few activity points. (Weight Watcher lingo)
I walked back to the table, sat down and looked at Friend, who was crying. "What's wrong with you? Bite your tongue?"
"No," she sniffed.
"Well, what's wrong?"
"It's the music, Bluegrass music makes me cry..."
"I don't know, it just does. Parades, too!"
"What about parades?"
"They make me cry, too."
"Good heavens! (Oompa Loompa Doompadee Doo, if you are wise...) "You ready? I don't think I can take anymore."
Somehow, when we stood up to leave, the party of seven were ready to go too. They had remained pretty quiet after the first musician had left and didn't seem interested in the Bluegrass. As we followed them outside somebody's phone rang.
Guess what the ring tone was?
Yep, it was "Swingin'!"
And off they went again. Singing "Swingin'" as loud as they could...
Next thing I knew, the whole bunch started clogging. Well, slap my knee and yell yeehaw, this damn place is nuts I thought to myself as I got in the truck. The next thing you knew, there goes Friend, a stomp here and a shuffle there; she was clogging.
Friend, who is normally quite reserved, now red-faced and flushed from her short outburst jumped into the truck and before I could say anything, said "I don't know. I just felt like it. I'm having an off-beat kinda day."