On this misty, moisty morning in Duluth, MN there are a few points that I would like to ponder.
Point the first: It is jarring, nay, disturbing to visit the new Texas Roadhouse Restaurant and listen to the wait staff give a big ole’ Texas “Yeehaw” for a patron’s birthday. It actually makes me a little bit stabby. It makes me wonder, how many of the wait staff have actually been to Texas? They are pasty lutefisk eatin’ Minnesotans that are more acquainted with church basement coffee and hotdish. Seeing them place a patron on a saw horse outfitted with a saddle and surrounding them in what I can only suppose could be euphemistically referred to as a “Texas Round Up” and then givin’ that ole “Yeehaw” makes me recall all those fine folks that nearly drove me to an inter state shooting spree when I visited the Lone Star state oh so many years ago.
It brings back memories of overt sexism and blatant paternalism all done with a twinkle in the eye and a knowing wink cuz “everything is done BIGGER in Texas”.
On a side note, the steak was DELICIOUS!
Point the second: Does one, when they KNOW they are not going to be around long term, even bother to accept a proffered inquiry of a drink after work or dinner? Not that this has happened or anything, but there is a potential. A drink or dinner hardly makes a lifetime commitment but it opens a door…a door of possibilities that I am not willing to entertain right now. I have visions of Freud sitting back, puffing a stogie, and saying “Sometimes, a drink is just a drink…”
Point the third: The boy and I will be going out to get our punching bag tonight. Since last year was the big weight loss year, I believe this year will be the big “get in shape” year. Not like last year, where I chose to work out in lieu of homicide or suicide. This will be me, setting goals for myself in order to do right by myself. Having developed peripheral neuropathy in my right leg last year really slowed me down and since I have taken time off to let it heal and it hasn’t, I am going under the assumption that once again, I have to roll with the punches and get used to the “new normal”. I cannot feel my right leg from the knee down. Perhaps I will never feel my right leg again. Since the neurologist insinuated that it was a “VERY COMMON PROBLEM AMONG ALCOHOLICS AND DIABETICS AND I SEE YOU’RE NOT A DIABETIC”, even after I told him that I didn’t think having two or three drinks in a month made me an alcoholic, and even after he condescendingly patted my arm and told me that he was SURE it would all-go-away-soon-and-don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-your-way-out (and charging me $600 for the privilege of his unequivocal knowledge), my leg is still numb. It makes running difficult. It makes hiking difficult. Sometimes it makes walking difficult when I am tired.
But, I can still do a mean roundhouse kick.
And roundhouse I shall.
Along with a little one-two punch.