Before Momma Hen arrived, being the amazing daughter that I am, I went and picked up a pregnant bottle of her favorite Chardonnay. More than half the bottle was gone before I even called the cab to take us to dinner.
The cab arrives, Felix joins us, and low and behold, we know the damn cab driver.
Side story: This is the same cab driver that took us to Beale Street before Music Fest two weekends ago. His favorite words are "fuck" and "god damn." We learned a lot from this cabbie. Apparently, Raiford (of Paula and Raifords Disco...a cash only Heaven on Earth from 10 pm to 4 am on Friday and Saturdays) popped a cap in a man's ass for getting rough with his wife. My kind of man. But, according to the cabbie, Raiford is also gay and has an asshole wide enough for a truck to drive through.
After Momma Hen tips her new favorite cab driver heavily, we finally make it to Local to eat dinner. This is where the bitching starts.
"I want to sit outside." There are no tables available outside...I mean the bar is packed for Happy Hour for God's sake.
"Where's the salt, Mere? My lobster tacos have NO taste. So bland." Yet she made a happy plate.
"Do we really have to go to the game? Let's bar hop." We agreed to go for a few innings. I was already decked out in my Redbirds shirt.
Since Felix and Momma Hen obviously didn't want to attend the game, I paid the $57 for three tickets. High roller, I know. We all grab a beer and sit down.
"Are the Redbirds even any good?"
"This is so boring. Felix, let's talk about finding me a date in Greenville." Oh boy, here we go. It's only the first inning.
"Why can't I smoke out here? And do they not sell wine?" This is a family oriented baseball stadium mind you.
It's the third inning by now. Momma Hen and Felix get up to find the smoking section and never come back. As I venture off to find them, I see she has found the wine. Thank the good Lord in Heaven that Momma Hen has found her wine.
"Mere, we're leaving. This sucks! We're going to the Peabody to have cocktails. BYE!" Ok. Kind of hurts my feelings, but fuck it. I want to stay and watch the game. The Redbirds finally get their dicks out of the dirt and start playing a real game... 6 runs in the 5th inning. As bad as I wanted to stay for the rest of the game, I knew that if I didn't find the two drunkards I would lose them for the night.
I immediately spot them in the lobby of the Peabody and see that one of my coworkers has joined them. Oh shit. What a great night to meet the mother figure. Mom and Felix's voices are already 2 octaves above everyone else's at the bar. As soon as I sit down I receive a lovely greeting.
"YOU'RE A BITCH!" Why, thank you.
"I can see you talking about me." I haven't said more than "Hey ya'll. I would like a glass of pinot grigio."
"How was the rest of the gaaaaaaaame." You really care, don't you?
Let's wrap this evening up. Momma Hen was ready to go home. No arguing there. My coworker paid for our tab...probably so he could get away as soon as possible. We couldn't find a cab. Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch. Found a cab. Made it home. Locked myself in my room and passed out.
Not a Momma Hen nor Felix was stirring...not even my dog or cat this morning at 6:30 when I left for work.
XOXO,
Honey
Memphis Redbirds Official Homepage
http://www.localgastropub.com/
http://www.peabodymemphis.com/
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