Last Thursday night I decided to go meet strangers in a dive bar. And I took Louise with me. Because if anyone can charm potentially strangers in a dive bar, it’s Louise.

Truthfully, they aren’t complete strangers. Cam and Lara, who comment here, and author they occasional 50 word fiction, invited me to their monthly "have drinks in a dive bar with a whole bunch of people we know some of whom we just met." The first thing Cam did was give us each a dollar for the juke box, as it was the best juke box ever. I played Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, Neil Diamond, Cheap Trick and the Violent Femmes. I was able to prove that Louise is not just a little character on my blog, and she really does have a Scottish accent. Well, at least I was able to prove it to Cam and Lara. We met lots of really nice people, including one woman with whom we chatted for quite a while, and yet she was not insulted when we told her we couldn’t remember her name. Lynn. I remember it now. I’m horrible with names. The second you introduce someone to me, I will instantly forget their name.

So Cam is affectionate and touchy, and Louise is not, and I think that if I were to arrange them at a table again, I would definitely put them next to each other. Just to watch Cam try not to touch her [she is really so very adorable, it’s hard not to want to just pat her arm at least] and Louise try not to yell "bad touch! bad touch!" And Lara knows all the words to "I Want it Now" [aka: bean feast] from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Which just so happens to be a favorite song of mine to sing. Because, it really is my bar of chocolate, you know.

Anyway, you know you are having fun when you lose track of time, and soon it was 1 am on a school night. As Louise and I were walking back to the car, we passed a club, across the street, with loud hip hop streaming out. Three fine young gentlemen in very saggy trousers were hanging out on the side walk. As we walked past them, Louise was doing that talking thing you do, when you don’t want some stranger to talk to you or ask you to sign their petition or give them a dollar. Nonetheless… one of the Fine Young Gentlemen with Saggy Trousers asked if we were sisters. To which I replied, politely, "Oh no… no we are not sisters."

He was just surprised that I would actually answer him, and thanked me for the response. As we passed, one or more of the FYG w/ ST yelled out to us. "hey… you got something fine following you!"

"Louise, we have something following us… do you think it’s a puppy?"

More yelling from the FYG w/ST that indicated it was indeed not a puppy, but rather it was a booty. I don’t know which one, maybe both.

"No, it’s not a puppy. I do believe he is referring to our fine posteriors."

"Hmmm… I wish it was a puppy."

But when we got in the car, we broke into a rousing rendition of "Baby Got Back" anyway.

I’m still waiting for my bean feast, by the way.