Monday, February 22, 2010

The Forgotten Invitation

First, let me apologize to all my adoring fans for this delinquent second muse, "Courtland, Mr. Smith and Danielle I am sorry for not posting again before now". Finally, now I can begin with a clear conscience.

This story has already been told to some, however the experiential humor should be shared by all. Most would find humor after the fact, however my fiance and I laughed all during our recent societal faux pas, hence Spoiled Rotten but judge for yourself.

This past Saturday was absolutely beautiful, and my opportunity was apparent. I went straight to the Golf Club, unfortunately every other yuppie in Savannah had the same idea. Fortunately, the SGC does not tolerate slow play nor do they have tee times. If you were to say hold up an afternoon blitz then you can fully expect to have a hooded 2-iron whiz by your ear.

Actually, I must confess my first move was a bit more strategic than the golf outing itself; I delivered lunch to Courtland at the heralded You may be asking yourself why this is strategic, for the less intuitive here goes a simple explanation. When a certain someone, Dana, is granted the day off and Courtland has to work she has the same tendencies as I when the shoe is on the other foot, child like tantrums with guilt laden texts. A lunch delivery is good for at least 18 holes of gambling and golf.

The afternoon was incredibly enjoyable as I joined an afternoon group. This round was even more cathartic since my wallet was thicken thanks to my medalist play. Promptly after the round, without a momentary stop in the men's card room, I proceeded to fetch Courtland from the store and we scooted home.

Upon arrival home we found sunlight still to burn, so we took our Westminster capable Chihuahuas to Forsyth Park. Thanks in large part to Wee-Man and Ella Belle I have a hypothesis that Chihuahuas are not of Mexican decent but rather French or North Korean depending on your political preference. The French hypothesis is a reference to one having a Napoleonic complex and the North Korean reference is solely based on their physical stature and anger toward everyone the world. Wee-Man and Elle Belle each have their own quirky personality traits which send each into a tizzy: Wee-Man, not Spike or Butch, goes into an absolute spasm when any other dog is within 30 yards, please remember we are in a public park. Elle Belle goes berserk when skateboards are within earshot, so please keep in mind SCAD is all around this particular park and becoming the next Shaun White is in high demand. In an effort to make this long derivation a bit shorter we stayed for all of ten minutes before returning home.

Court and I sat down to utter exhaustion before fielding a phone call from my Mother. The call consisted of "Where the Hell are you". Completely befuddled I responded with sheer confusion, "What are you talking about". Apparently, an invitation to a family friend's 21st Birthday was hand delivered to my office. There are a thousand and one excuses, but the honest to God truth is that I threw the invitation aside. After I try to explain my irresponsible nature Courtland stares at me with a look which typically takes about a day and a half to fade. It's now off to the races and we are in a mad dash to make the second half of this supposed "Get Together". Coupled with our late nature the party is located on the Landings, a gated community fully stocked with Wackenhut security soup to nuts. The Landings is an isolated island on the end of the Earth where you need a visitor pass and proof of US Citizenship unless part of a landscape crew at 6:30am.

Finally, we arrive at Old South Lane, my parent's house, and to our surprise the entire lane is completely lined with imported automobiles. These are not the typical "get together" cars, these are the "special event cars". Regardless, we motor into the driveway front and center, because its not a party until Court and I arrive, so we thought. As we approach the house there is a large bay window with clear view into the dining room where every single attendee is adorned in coat and tie. Courtland turns to me in absolute horror as we scan each other's casual attire of jeans and designer gear. Unfortunately, the labels could not save this lapse of preparation, we're doomed. Instead of an apologetic and humbling approach we enter with swagger and confidence which left the rest of the party wondering if they misread the phantom invitation.

For the entire night Courtland and I make continuous eye contact followed by sudden outbursts of laughter. At this point you as the reader are probably finding humor in our situation, but you don't know the half of it as Courtland and I were late for dinner reservations at Miyabi's. You may be asking yourself what on earth is Miyabi's, so let me share with you this guilty pleasure of ours. Miyabi's is simply a Japanese Hibachi restaurant where the MSG is as bountiful as the Buddha shaped drink glasses with the pink umbrella. Not only do you have gargantuan proportions, but they seat you with a table of 10 strangers all wearing their Sunday's finest. Honestly, I am convinced the food taste that much better since the people watching is so good.

This post is very lengthy but the irony of our elaborate plans to dine at a Japanese Steak House were thwarted by a God Parent and her daughter's 21st Birthday. I'm spoiled rotten because I still think Miyabi's take precedence, and it is Our Dirty Secret.......until now.

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