The story you are about to read is purely speculation, an alleged account of what may or may not have happened on Friday night which may have begun by stopping at the local wine shop where we may have enjoyed a complimentary sampling of fine wines.
And we may or may not have accepted the offer to purchase a glass of the wine of the week for $4.
And then we may or may not have purchased a bottle of the wine of the week for $34.
After sampling 6 wines, we may or may not have been enjoying ourselves. The shop may not have realized that we were lightweight triathletes who had no business buying or drinking anything more than one glass of wine.
We may have started a heated discussion with the shop proprietor on why the shop should create a new wine sampling criteria, “Could I drink a whole bottle of this in one sitting or not?” Which may have led to a lecture from the store proprietor on why we should do everything in moderation, like not getting addicted to too many things like cheap cigarettes or expensive wine.
I may have then left Chris to fend for himself with this proprietor, who may or may not have himself sampled a few too many fine wines earlier in the evening, as the discussion dragged on about sophisticated wines meant for savoring and sipping and not meant for finishing in one sitting.
And then I may have walked into a glass table on the way out. Which I found funny though the person behind the cash register may not have found it as funny.
Once outside, Chris and I may or may not have broken down into a fit of giggles after he pulled something out of his pocket which turned out to be the personal phone number of the proprietor who was likely concerned that two young newlyweds were well on their way to finishing off one bottle in less than 30 minutes in one sitting. Or, he may have found Chris to be very cute and just wanted to give him his number.
We then decided to hang out in the town, walking up and down the streets looking at the old cars with crowds of other people who may or may not have been enjoying their own Friday night, complete with food, beer, and wine at their own pace of moderation.
As we walked, I may or may not have told Chris that my foot finally felt better after being tied in a fit of tight knots all week long, and I may have associated this feeling of foot relief with the sampling of fine wines, and I may have proven my pain-free nimbleness by skipping down the sidewalk.
We may or may not have decided to go to a tavern and order a sampler paddle of the in-house brewed beer. I may or may not have finished most of the beers on my own, while Chris finally just ordered his own pint of beer so I wouldn’t have to share which I really wasn’t doing in the first place. I may have then finished Chris’ beer, telling him ‘this is really good’ which he may have been looking to find out for himself before I finished the pint off.
Outside of the tavern, we may or may not have visited a fine, upscale cigar shop, perusing an assortment of scented, flavored, and expensive smokables. Chris may have purchased a Punch cigar which the person behind the counter informed us had a real bite and questioned if we were sure that was the bite we were looking for. We may have asked him to light it up at that remark.
We may or may not have then walked down the street while periodically puffing on a cigar.
I may have shouted something about Ironman in the middle of the street.
At that point, we walked by the local running store and I may or may not have stopped dead in my tracks when I realized that there was a photo of our coach tacked on a board that was visible through the store’s front window. Which I may have found very freaky, but oh so funny because she lives about 40 miles from this store and yet she was still so close to us. I may have shouted “I think she’s watching us” as we tested this by walking to and from the picture to prove that, yes indeed, her eyes were following us no matter which way we went. This may have led to a discussion that her eyes in the picture, though covered by sunglasses, were actually little cameras that were linked directly to her house like a portrait in a scary movie where the eyes were cut out and contained real eyes that watched you as you walked by.
I may or may not have sung out loud to the words of the songs played by two guys performing live music by the train station, including “Losing My Religion” (which I clearly was) and “Me & Julio Down By The Schoolyard” while Chris stood by a lightpost, smoking the cigar and winking at me which may have reminded me of a dirty old man, which he is not.
And after a few songs, I looked around at all of the other people, walking, pushing strollers, eating ice cream cones, riding motorcycles. People were buzzing everywhere, almost as much as I may or may not have been buzzing, and they were clearly enjoying this sweet summer night. And I may have thought to myself – this is what real people do on a real Friday night and how is it that I have become just an infrequent visitor in this real world rather than a steady resident? At that point, I may have been a bit too fuzzy in the mind to come up with a deep or poignant explanation so I decided to count the cars on the train passing by instead, which may have gotten me dizzy or maybe it was the wine, or the beer, or the cigar all of which I may or may not have indulged in.
Back at home, I may have complained about still being hungry to which Chris responded “I didn’t think a salad would get you very far, Ironman.” So I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, even though I may have said goodbye to peanut butter a few days ago, and then may have passed out in bed soon afterwards.
At 1:30 am, I may have woke up wondering who was hitting me on the head with the paddle that was holding the beers at the tavern while someone else was stuffing cottonballs in my mouth.
I then may have taken a few Advil.
In the morning, I set out for a 13 mile run, the perfect cure for post-Friday night festivities. At mile 11, I may or may not have run off the path to find a place to release my own version of the runs behind trees which may or may not have been related to the festivities that took place the night before.
Of course, I plead my innonence and admit to nothing. After all, these things may or may not have happened because we stopped by the local wine shop on Friday night.
Cheers!
