12 February 2001
Last year: All in all, despite some minor disappointments, I had a fantastic time.
Friday I went home early, and Matt and I met K.T. and Kevin to play a round of Putt-Putt. Kevin apparently grew up playing the game, so he's pretty good at it. The course was terrible, though, so he didn't start out very well. And in what she said was a complete reversal of fortune (and I have no reason to doubt her) K.T. did quite well - I think she got five holes-in-one, and I don't remember her getting a single score of five (five being the "Oh, I give up, let's move on to the next hole" score). I couldn't resist teasing Kevin about it at first - he so frequently comes across as arrogant (even though K.T. insists he doesn't mean it that way) that it's hard to resist opportunities to poke at him. And it's not like I doubted his skill.
Actually, I only said anything maybe two or three times, but I wasn't paying attention. I don't take miniature golf very seriously to begin with, and this course was so poorly kept, and the weather was so windy, that I didn't think Tiger Woods would've been able to come in at par. Anyway, as we neared the end, K.T. whispered to me that she thought Kevin was a little irritable about the teasing - by then I'm quite certain I'd stopped, though I continued to cheer her on. Was he irritable because I wanted her to win? Too bad. It seems only right that she should get lucky every once in a while, doesn't it? And Matt and I obviously were no competition.
Oh, well. K.T. did win, by a single point, which was in doubt right up to the last hole. And since we'd all gotten at least one hole-in-one (much to much astonishment; I think that makes a grand total of five times in my life I've managed it) we got coupons for reduced rates on future games. It'll probably be a while before we go back, though. Miniature golf isn't really Matt's thing, and the Putt-Putt is a crappier course, much further away than the course in Williamsburg.
That night, Matt went to play Ultimate Frisbee. I stayed home to wrestle with Flash. (That project, by the way, is almost done. Expect to hear about it sometime in the next day or so.) After a couple of hours, I saw his headlights turn into the driveway, and heard a sickening crunch. Oh, shit, I thought, whatever that was, he's going to be irritable. Matt has very little patience for his own lack of perfection.
A minute or so later, the door opened and Matt carefully stuck in just his face. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said. My car? I wondered, and then he came in - both of his knees were wrapped in bloody gauze. They'd been playing in the Sunken Gardens, which has brick paths every so far. The cleats Matt had bought to help him gain traction in the grass and dirt had the reverse effect on the brick. He'd taken a dive which at first, he said, would've planted his face on the edge of some stairs. His "monkey-lizard" instincts took over, though, and he'd rolled to protect his head, landing instead on his back, skinning both knees, taking a chunk out of the side of one finger, and turning his thumb a lovely shade of purple.
"Oh," he said, "and I ran over your planter as I was leaving, and again when I came back." (He was referring to an empty plastic box planter - I'd brought the pots that were in it inside for the winter. The box itself cost maybe ten dollars, so I wasn't worried about it.)
Saturday we spent mostly loafing around the house. We went out once to pick up the week's comics and stop at the bank, and then went back to the house and vegetated. I was feeling pretty restless, though, so eventually I conceived of the notion of going to visit my parents - maybe have dinner with them.
Matt shrugged and said, "Whatever..." so I called them and made arrangements. After I got off the phone, Matt told me he wasn't feeling very sociable. So I went by myself. My mom made pork tenderloin, cauliflower with cheese sauce (she forgets I'm willing to eat vegetables now that I'm no longer eight), and sweet potatoes, all of which were wonderful. I felt vaguely guilty for leaving Matt at home, but since he'd been sortof grumpy all afternoon, I didn't feel too guilty.
Sunday, as I went outside to bring some stuff in from my car, I noticed something glinting by Matt's van's rear tire. Wondering if he'd gotten something stuck on it, I leaned down to investigate.
There was a huge gash in the surface of the tire - what I was seeing was the braided wire that goes between the interior rubber and the layer that makes up the tread. The hole didn't go all the way through the tire, but it was at least three inches long and most of an inch wide. I was astonished that the tire hadn't already lost all its pressure.
Matt had told me that he'd taken the van to Merchant's for an inspection Friday morning, and that they'd told him he needed a new tire, but he - and I - had assumed they meant the tread wasn't deep enough to meet regulation. Not the safest to drive in the rain, perhaps - not ready to blow at any second! I'm still astonished they let him drive home with it in that condition. (Actually, they refused to keep the van and do any work on it until he'd ordered one of the parts he needed to pass inspection. Why they couldn't order the part, I have no idea.)
In any case, I told him I'd much rather plan to drive him to work than have to pick him up from the side of the road somewhere when it finally gave way. So this morning, he drove the van back over to Merchant's, and left it there to wait until it's driveable, and I took him to work. It throws off my plans a little - I had thought about working a little late today so I could go home early Wednesday to prepare his Valentine's present - but far better to change my plan voluntarily than be surprised with a call asking for help later. And far less irritation on his part, I'm sure.
Braz and Kris called us on their way home from Baltimore last night to see if we wanted to have dinner with them when they got home. We agreed, and when they called from home, we decided to meet them at Shackleford's, a newish restaurant near their house.
Kris and I were fairly impressed with our food, but Matt and Braz were moderately unimpressed. Since we've only been the once, I don't know if it was just a girl thing, or if they just ordered the wrong things. But we had the goofiest waiter... If he wasn't actually stoned while he was serving us, he was certainly planning on it as soon as he got off work. It was like being in a movie: Dude, Where's My Food?
Actually, he wasn't bad. He was just very spaced-out.
There was an item on the menu called "Chicken Alouette" which Kris decided to order and was actually very good. But every time anyone said its name, Braz and Matt would launch into a verse of the song Alouette - much to the amusement of the four-year-old sitting behind us. It was actually quite amusing, and led to this little scene, which will go far to explain our waiter:
Waiter: So, y'all ready to order yet?
Matt and Braz: No!
Me: They've been too busy singing.
Waiter: Singing?
Me: Yeah. Every time we try to decide whether to order the Chicken Alouette-
Matt and Braz: (singing) Alouette, gentille Alouette... (they finish the verse)
Waiter: Woah... Never seen anyone do that before...
As we were getting into our cars this morning, Matt said, "It looks like something's been digging in the bed again." I looked, and sure enough, a bunch of dirt was loose in one corner of the central mulch bed. I muttered some imprecations against our neighbors' dogs, and went to kick the dirt back into the hole, hoping the bulbs I'd planted hadn't been eaten or killed.
As I turned around to go, though, a hint of color caught my eye. And then another. It looks like my miniature crocuses are coming up! Hurray for the approach of spring! (And alas for the approach of summer, but let's take one season at a time.)
Word of the Day:
voracity - the quality or state of being ravenous or insatiable
Currently Reading:
- The Macintosh Bible by Sharon Aker
Current Projects:
- Kris' afghan
- placemats