Monday, June 27, 2016

A Night Not Safe for Man nor Beasts. But Especially Beasts.

It was 8 hours and 40 minutes into our 10-hour drive home from Oklahoma that the bullcrap hit the fanbelt.

Hick and I held it together through the afternoon rush hour traffic coming out of Oklahoma City. Forged an uneasy truce through nondescript countryside and off-and-on construction along I-40 toward Fort Smith. Hick did not want to take the turnpike, and as a non-highway driver, who was I to object? We turned north onto I-49 near Fort Smith, and together marveled at the beautiful Boston Mountains. Still cordial, we joked as we crossed into Missouri after I-49 turned into US-71, because a town there had the same name as my sister the ex-mayor's wife. Even the downpour once we made a right onto I-44 near Joplin did not lead to disparaging words.

We settled down for the long haul. Hick said he was fine to drive straight through. Our ETA back at the homestead was 1:50 a.m. I counted mile markers. It's pretty ridiculous for Missouri to spend my tax dollars to pound a signpost every .2 miles with a shiny green rectangle announcing that I have just progressed another two-tenths mile towards my destination. Seriously. I remember when a mile marker meant just that. A MILE between each marker. Oklahoma and Arkansas are more cost-conscious with their road labels.

It was just outside the city limits of Steelville that the bullcrap hit the fanbelt. Hick thought he should drive 70 mph on the 55 mph two-lane blacktop. Aside from it being against the law, it was 12:30 in the freakin' a.m. Nobody needs to drive that fast in the dark on that road after already driving 8 hours and 40 minutes with a couple of pit stops for gas and potty. I expressed my desire to live.

"You need to slow down. You're driving too fast for the conditions."

"YOU need to lean that seat back and have a nap."

"No. I want to SEE how you kill me."

Just then I saw two green eyes shining at me from the ditch on the left side of the road, with a glimpse of a humpy body as the headlights passed over it.

"Did you see that deer?"


"I'm glad he didn't jump out in front of us!"

"Yeah, which is why I've been telling you to slow down. You don't have time to react going this fast."


"SEE? You're driving over the center line! You're too tired, and it's too dark to go this fast!"

"VAL. I drive on the center line in the daytime."



"What was THAT? You just ran over something! It was black. Right in the middle of the road, and you hit it!"

 "It was a raccoon, Val. What did you want me to do, swerve off the road to go around it?"

"No. But if you were going slower, you might have seen it and had time. Or it would have had time to get out of the way."

"I'm not going too fast. These things happen. Animals get on the road."

We were about a half mile past the raccoon crossing, descending toward the canoeing campground at the bottom of the valley, when we passed a guy and a girl standing in the ditch on my right. Kind of leaning back against the grassy hill.

"What was THAT all about? That's creepy! Why are they standing there at midnight?"

"I don't know, Val. Maybe they walked up from the campground."

"But WHY? Unless...they were looking for their pet raccoon!"

We headed up the winding road on the other side of the river, climbing out of the valley.


"DANG IT! You just did it again! What was THAT?"

"A raccoon, Val."

"You hit another raccoon!"

"I didn't kill it."

"No. Not yet. Now he's going to die a slow, lingering death."

"He was layin' in the road dead, Val. I just ran over him."

"Well...THAT was inconsiderate of him."

"Those were some big raccoons!"

"You're tellin' ME! And the undercarriage!"

"Look! There's another one! At the edge of the road!"

"He'd better turn and run the other way, if he knows what's good for him."

The Pony huffed and threw off the fleece blanket he'd had pulled up to his chin for the last hour.

"Why the long face? You just woke up?"

"No. I've BEEN awake all this time. I was TRYING to sleep."

"Well. I imagine it was pretty hard with that giant raccoon carcass bumping up under your seat."


"I TOLD you, I'm going to see how you kill me. And I WILL come back to haunt you. Don't think that I won't. Death will not silence ME!"

It seems we suffered from a bout of car-cabin fever on that never-ending drive. Though not as much as southeast Missouri's raccoon population.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Slap On, Slap Off...THE SLAPPER!

Do you all realize how lucky you are to be reading Val's blog this week? She could have been cooling her heels in the hoosegow. Chillin' with villains and felons. A guest at the Crossbars Hilton. Locked up, with the key disposed of per environmentally-friendly trash service and landfill rules.


"Oh, Val," you say. "Why must you be so dramatic? Everything you do is not a major incident. The world is not as Valcentric as you would like."

Seriously. I could have been arrested for battery at the casino. Here's how it went down.

I had just sat down to play a quarter slot machine called Lucky Duck. It was a 3-reel machine, with a bonus when you hit a Lucky Ducky anywhere visible, not just on the payline. Apparently there were three different kinds of Lucky Ducks, but I couldn't tell them apart in my spinning frenzy. Every now and then, that machine would go crazy and give free spins. I guess if you hit a special duck. AND, sometimes a screen popped up on top with little yellow rubber duckies swimming along.

Hick had told me about playing one of these games. He tried to pick a duck, like the screen said, but nothing happened. And a guy next to him said he had to push a button first. I don't know about Hick and his buddy, but I reached up to poke a duck, and it turned over, and some points wafted out of him. I got to pick three ducks, and their total was my bonus. Simple enough, but I didn't know why it was doing that. I figured I'd just keep spinning the reels (no crank on this machine) and poke the ducks when I got a chance.

I had only put one $20 bill in the machine, and was getting along swimmingly. I was a lucky duck! I was pushing the PLAY MAX CREDITS button, to play 3 credits, or three quarters per spin. All at once, a Lucky Duck appeared, and my machine took to spinning on its own. FIVE free spins! And then the swimming ducks showed up on the top display. Of course a slot machine makes noise when you win something, because the casino wants to trick other idiots into feeding their no-armed bandits money. During my free spins, quite a cacophony emanated from my Lucky Duck

A little old lady came up behind me, and said, "Oh, what you do?" She was short, with a round face and black hair, and either foreign (like perhaps Asian or Mexican) or Native American (which would make ME foreign, I suppose), because she talked with an accent, or some kind of inflection different than what flyover midwestern Val is accustomed to hearing in the heartland.

"I really don't know what I'm doing, but I think I'm doing pretty good!"

Let the record show that the majority of people playing in casinos don't want to make chit-chat. It's one thing if you're filling your free soda (the horror--Oklahoma seems to be in cahoots with PEPSI instead of Coke) or waiting in line, or eating at the food court. But when you're playing, you don't want to be bothered. Maybe you're counting losing spins, so you know when to up your bet to max when the odds are in favor of a payoff. So you don't just walk up to people and start blathering. But Val is a people person, as you well know! So she was polite and responded to Little Lady.

WELL! The thanks I got for being nice was that Little Lady reached around my shoulder and HIT THE 'SPIN REELS' BUTTON ON MY MACHINE!!!

I reacted by flinging up my arm. Kind of like my mom used to do if she had to slam on the brakes when I was a toddler riding in our pink and white 1956 Chevy Bel Air sedan, standing on the front seat beside her. It's a reflex. So when Little Lady pushed my button, my arm automatically raised up quickly without my conscious thought, and knocked her arm and hand off my button.

"Don't touch my machine!"

I didn't scream at her. But I wanted her to know that I did not appreciate her touch. You can't have people walking up all willy-nilly in a casino and pushing your buttons. That is a really bad casino faux pas. I share this tale to educate you on proper casinoquette.

Little Lady looked at me kind of quizzically. But I had made my point. I chatted with her a bit more, just to show that there were no hard feelings.

She said, "I think that what you do. To pick ducks."

"But mine were already turning over when I touched them."

Problem was, she pushed that SPIN REELS button, which was for playing 1 credit. I was afraid that would negate my 3-credit play that had landed me in the bonus. She could have cut my profit by TWO-THIRDS! I don't think she did. I happened to win $150 on that spin. So everything was good.

I'm surprised that security didn't see my actions on the spy cams, and come to escort me out into the 99-degree heat while Hick continued to lose the money I gave him, while sipping free Diet Pepsi all the live-long day.

Let the record show that even after Hick met up with me right before leaving time, and I told him about Little Lady's transgression, I'll be ding-dang-donged if he didn't do the exact same thing! I was trying to finish up at a penny machine, and Hick reached over my shoulder and PUSHED THE PLAY 5 CREDITS BUTTON!!! Of course my arm did the exact same thing it did to Little Lady, only this time it was my left arm.

"Don't you hit my hand off your button!" Hick actually thought HE was in the right! What is wrong with people? If security had come, I would have denied knowing Hick, and complained the he put his hands where they didn't belong (technically true) and let them tote him away to their lock-up.

So there's my gambling tale of almost hitting an old lady (who was probably younger than me), and violently fending off Hick's unwanted touch.

It's a good thing Val carries her lawyer's card with her at all times.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

The Museum of Natural Misery

All gambling and no learning make Val a happy gal.

Hick seems to have a vendetta against Val's happiness. It is not enough that Val funds his gaming bankroll with hard-won stashes from her own endeavors. And that she is perfectly agreeable to him going out on his own, exploring Goodwills and thrift stores and antique shops. Val would be perfectly happy (SO much about Val is perfect) sitting in the hotel room with her books and internet, chillin' in the air conditioning, plenty of ice water and a bathroom at her disposal. A vacation, of sorts, from catering to the feeding and upkeep of her helpless males.

No, that freedom is not enough for Hick. He must drag Val along, in the 99-degree heat, to walk ten steps behind him and participate in things that do not interest her at all.

Let the record show that Hick DID attempt to appease Val's wishes Thursday morning, the plan being to head to the casino after breakfast, stay until money ran out, have some lunch, and return Val to the hotel. Then Hick would be on his own to explore the city. However...the universe had other ideas.

We got up a half hour later because that's when Hick set his alarm. On the way to the casino, we encountered heavy traffic, so much that we took the first available exit from the highway entrance ramp line. A semi truck had just been involved in an accident, burst into flames, and blocked the only way to the casino! Well. Only way, unless we drove 30 miles out of the way to get there, then 30 miles back. We could have gone to a whole new casino for that distance. Don't you worry about the truck driver. Nobody suffered serious injury, BUT the highway was blocked until after evening rush hour, due to hazmat cleanup crews.

Since it was only 10:15 a.m., Hick decided that we should tour the Oklahoma Museum of Natural History. Let the record show that Hick had placed that on his exploring itinerary for the day. I figured he would take me back to the hotel, see his sights, and then come back so we could try the casino again. Hick, however, said we would tour the museum, then try the casino again. (I didn't know until late afternoon when I checked the internet traffic reports what had happened on the highway.)

Val does not dislike museums. Val's knees dislike standing. So Hick was well aware that this educational outing was not Val's cup of Diet Coke. Still, he insisted. I'm sure I don't even have to mention that Hick did NOT drop me off at the entrance, but drove merrily to the parking lot, even two spaces farther from the entrance than necessary, and waited impatiently for Val to peel her sweaty butt from A-Cad's leather seat and extract her knees from the car.

Off Hick went, at break-knee speed, down the sidewalk to the first street that needed crossing. He stopped, and in true Hick fashion, took this picture with his phone:

Maybe you can see it, there in the center...a buffalo! A fake buffalo. On the corner across from the entrance to the Oklahoma Museum of Natural History. We crossed that street, and then another street, and walked across the vast front pavement to the door. There were numerous commemorative stones bearing names of the museum's benefactors paved right into the pavement.

Again, in true Hick fashion, he told the lady at the desk we wanted two tickets. Without asking the price. Val is not a miser, but she likes to know the price before she purchases something like...oh...I don't know...maybe some $1000 inserts from The Good Feet Store, or a secret new lawnmower. "Sixteen dollars," the lady said. Huh. We could have cut that down to $8 if Hick had let Val sit in the car. But with the temperature at 99 degrees, he probably would have been on the news that night, second story, after the casino-highway-truck fire.

The lady explained the main exhibits, suggested where we should start, and what direction to follow. We meandered to and fro, taking in the history of life and its Earthly beginnings, up through critters crawling out of the ocean and developing legs, as well as the increasing complexity of plant life and the classification of species. Then there was a room about plate tectonics and fossil dating. Pretty much the stuff I've been teaching for oh...let's see...28 YEARS!

We DID see the progression of Oklahoma's native people, with different fossil finds and arrowhead points. That was the best part. Also not-too-shabby was this mammoth statue:

Heh, heh. It was a mammoth statue of a MAMMOTH, by cracky! Here's a little story about the trouble it took to get it in there.

We also took the elevator with the glass back up to the second floor, so we could look down on the dinosaur exhibit:

Hick made me stand around for an hour and 45 minutes! I told him I would be unable to walk through the casino after that workout. My knees ain't what they used to be. I was breaking out in a cold pain sweat by the time we left, despite sitting a couple of times on their really low padded benches, which kind of added to the problem. His answer: "Well, you'll be mostly sitting, there." EXACTLY! And why I would rather be sitting there than standing looking at stuff (some diagrams were the exact same ones I had in my textbooks) I have taught for 28 years.

Maybe the next time we go somewhere, I can arrange for Hick to tour a saw-blade factory.

Friday, June 24, 2016

The Devil's Throne

Val misses her dark basement lair.

My nightly blog posts have been coming to you from the Holiday Inn Express. Don't get me started on this one. Though new, it can't hold a candle to the one in Columbia, Missouri. Anyhoo...I miss my dark basement lair. The heater that burns my foot-skin through my Croc-holes. The close proximity to my go-fer, The Pony, on his cheap basement couch. My best old Christmas present ever, my red office chair.

Even though my red office chair is starting to lose the plastic off its metal arms, it is quite comfortable. Just the right height. Adjustable if my back is tweaked from being an old lady. The chair provided by the Holiday Inn Express is also adjustable. If you dare.

Take a gander at this contraption:

Oh, it's modern. It's visually appealing. With easy upkeep. But it is not functional for Val. Those wheels ain't made for rollin'. Not on carpet, anyway. You'd best have that baby right up to where you want it, and turn it sideways to sit, then pivot your legs under the desk. Because you ain't goin' nowhere if you try to roll. Also, that leather or fake-leather or pleather or whatever it is makes your butt sweat.

But the most dangerous and annoying quality of this chair is that if you lean back just the least little bit, IT TRIES TO TURN OVER BACKWARDS! Uh huh. Just get your center of gravity back a tiny bit, and over you go! Or at least you FEEL like you're going over. It happens when you sit down, too. So you must be extra cautious, or put it up against the bed, and then try to make those five wheels roll you to the desk. I do not advise that method. You probably need a teenage boy called The Pony to stand behind you and make sure it doesn't tip over. But don't ask him to adjust the chair with that shiny lever that you can't see down below the right arm. He will tell you he doesn't want to mess with it and risk throwing you out of the chair.

I call this ill-conceived contraption THE DEVIL'S THRONE.

I think Hick would agree.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

High Roller Val and Her Chauffeur, Crumpledstubskin

Perhaps you've heard that Val enjoys a bit of gambling every now and then. What better time to hit the casino than when she's on a holding pattern in Oklahoma, waiting for The Pony to finish his freshman orientation camp? Especially when Riverwind Casino is just down the road, and Hick is here to drive her.

We dropped off The Pony with a fluffy pillow, and a full suitcase on wheels, and headed 15 minutes down I-35 to Riverwind Casino. Let the record show that Val did not have high hopes. No delusions of winning. After all, she rarely wins in Missouri casinos, and the Oklahoma casinos operated by the Indian Nations are unregulated. They can set their slots at zero payback if they so desire. The reviews left on various sites did nothing to pump Val with enthusiasm. Still! It's a CASINO!

Hick pulled into a the closest lot, with just a few cars, very near the door. I was sure it was the lot for valet parking, because there was a concrete barrier at the end closest to the door. AND about 60% of the parking spots were labeled with handicap signs. I was sure Hick needed to get out of that lot before security-in-a-Gator turned on their sirens.

Hick pointed out to poor simple Val that he was NOT in the wrong spot. As he backed up from the concrete barrier, he further pontificated that he was pretty sure valet parking would not let a man walk to his own car and back it out of the parking space Hick was now headed for. AND that space was one of three on that side of the lot that did not have a handicap sign.

"It's fine, Val. Nothing says we can't park here. And it's as close as we're going to get to the door."

Let the record show that the temperature was 99 degrees. And that Hick never once considered dropping Val off at the door. Off a cliff, maybe. But not off at the door. So we parked in that just-vacated spot, and headed inside. I was quite impressed with the bathrooms, so large and full of stalls and tastefully decorated with stone and tile. The free soda fountain was not so welcoming. There were several of them throughout the casino, in little alcove rooms, and they only dispensed PEPSI PRODUCTS! We fueled up on Diet Pepsi, and wandered off to scout the premises.

I did not see my regular slots, of course. Not that I have any regular slots, only having been to the casino twice in the last 5-6 years. We didn't see many appealing quarter machines, so I left Hick and found a penny machine. Of course to play max credits, it cost $1.80! That was 20 different win option payline thingies. Still a reel-to-reel, not a video machine. Wouldn't you know it? It kept hitting little jackpots, paying me back $1.00 for my $1.80. And when I was down to $11.00-and-something of my original $20 hit something kind of good. I don't know what it was, because I didn't understand the game. But I had two winning paylines, and something plus a 4X oval and a 2X oval. I was excited! It kept going and going, that WIN PAYS digital counter. Of course it was dinging and dinging, and people were looking, but then they would see it was a penny machine. The housekeeping lady came by 3 times to check the trash can right beside me. Huh. That was curious.

Because I was kind of a novelty for people to stare at, I sent Hick a text. "I just hit a good winner. I'm going to leave this machine if you want to try it." I knew he would come stand by me then. And he did. He sat down at the machine next to me and fed it a $20. He had lost that, not even playing max credits, before my machine quit dinging. We tried to figure it out. It was counting up the win in pennies. Hick thought I won $50, but it went right past that. After about 20 minutes (but who was counting), the jackpot was finished. Let the record show that I won a jackpot of $112.00 on that play!

Of course, because I'm Val, I did not take the money and run far, far away from those armless bandits. I tried a couple of quarter machines with no luck. Then found Hick again with a new kind of quarter machine that may or may not pay extra when some bingo numbers were hit. I tried reading the rules on another machine like that, but it got stuck and would not take me back to regular play, and I still had $17.00 in it! Also, no attendants came by. Nope. It's not like I was clanging a winner. They were scarce. Not even the housekeeping lady would come over. After about five minutes of inaction, with me poking various play buttons trying to get out of that rules screen, it went back to letting me play regular spins, and I lost my money quickly.

So, at this machine next to Hick, I was having some fun. Again, it paid off here and there, and those surprise bingo spins excited me. I hit a couple of good jackpots on it that I cashed out. I did not, however, use my regular system of keeping track in my head of all the smaller pays, and save that money from my pocket. I was ready to quit after a $45.00 payout, but Hick was still button-pushing. So of course, to keep him company, I kept feeding my machine. Once Hick finally lost every bit of the money I had given him from my gambling fund, we headed for a cashier to cash out my tickets, because we did not know where the automatic ticket-cashing machines were.

Let the record show that Val walked out the front door with $300 even from those tickets. Of course, it cost her $240 to win that $300. Still, Val profited $60 on her Oklahoma casino adventure. Not exactly a high roller.

Somehow, playing that last quarter machine, I earned an odd 1 cent. Must have been the bingo. I did not cash it out, but kept it for a souvenir. Hick also gave me HIS total winnings for the day. Which is not really a win, considering I gave him a considerably higher amount than that to play with.

Yeah. Hick should be called Crumpledstubskin. At least he was a good chauffeur. Who got a $149.92 tip.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

The Last Night's Supper

Thevictorians are in Norman, Oklahoma for an orientation camp at the University of Oklahoma for incoming freshman The Pony. It's a three-day affair that's occupying us for five. He's all hyped-up about meeting new people, as much as The Pony gets hyped-up, and as much as he shows interest in people. It's kind of like turning your heat up from 72 to 73.

Of course the trip has already been fraught with blog fodder! Val, like Tina and Ike, never does anything nice and easy. Let's begin our travelogue with today's tale of The Last Night's Supper.

We got into town late. It was about a 10-hour drive from Backroads, accounting for our bathroom/leg-stretching stops and lunch. We rolled into town at 5:30, gathered our wits and belongings, checked into the Holiday Inn Express, and headed out for supper at 6:15. The Pony and Hick chose Saltgrass Steak House, having eaten there before on their campus visit trip. I was eager to see what fine dining lay in store for me, as I watched us pass up a perfectly good Outback Steak House.

Well. Let the record show that Val was not impressed. Come on! Did you actually think there was going to be any other scenario? That Val would feast upon succulent meat from an establishment where no animal was harmed in the making of her meal? An eatery which served bottomless, free tankards of unicorn milk, and provided fluffy kittens for petting while dinner was being prepared? No. You knew what you were in for by the second paragraph.

Hick held the door open for me to enter. Alarm bells! Let the record show that during the entire trip, Hick never once held open any other door for me. Not at rest stops, not at convenience stores, not at Steak N Shake (where we had lunch and saw that tattoos were a requirement for the waitresses), not at the hotel. He only does this when he does not want to be the one to enter and make a decision when accosted by the greeter.

We were escorted to our table and left to fend for ourselves. Which was a problem, what with me forgetting to bring my miner's lamp. I swear. It was darker than McDougal's Cave after Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher burned their last candle. I thought it was a joke. That surely that seater was going to turn on a light. But no. As she laid down the menus and left, I said, some might say passive-aggressively, "Thanks. I'm not sure I can read in the dark." Hick picked up his menu and told me my eyes would adjust. They did not. I held that menu seven ways to Sunday, trying to catch a glimmer of the sunset coming through a window on the periphery. No luck. I asked The Pony to read it to me. Even he had to twist and turn and catch an errant sunset beam to make it out. I decided on the marinated chicken breast with seasoned vegetables, and a Caesar salad, since The Pony read off my choices and said I was allowed a side and a salad.

It was quite hard to hear him, even though he was sitting at my right hand. There was a raucous family group led by a boozy floozy to our right, and an obnoxious 3-man, 1-woman group next to them led by a raging bore. I don't know why people in Oklahoma (Val, the questionable artist, paints with a broad brush) have to bellow each word at the top of their lungs, like calling a cowboy in from the north 40,000 when the dinner bell in broken.

As the evening progressed, Raging Bore grew more and more vociferous. I saw him accept the server's offer of another margarita. That was the third he'd had since we came in, and from the sound of him, he'd imbibed before our arrival. Val does not begrudge a patron his liquor. But his good time should stop before her bad time begins. He was telling stories about picking up girls, and not describing them in a very good light (which had nothing to do with the darkness within that dining area). His buddies roared mercilessly with mirth. The gal went along with it, making me wonder how he was going to talk about her later. It was like a middle-aged frat party. At one point, Raging Bore bellowed, "And then she threatened to knock me out!" Leading Val to declare, "I'D like to knock him out!" and Hick and The Pony to comment, "WHAT?"

Our drinks (of the soft variety) arrived, and a plate of bread. The Pony was on it like a locust on the Heartland. He had sliced off 2/3 of it, slathered his hunks with butter, and devoured them before Hick could pick up the knife. Hick finished it off, leading Val to declare, "That's okay. I didn't want any bread anyway." And Hick to reply, "WHAT?"

The side salads and my Caesar arrived after a bit. Hick and The Pony's were in large bowls with ranch dressing (what ELSE would you choose in Oklahoma?), and mine was on a square plate. Let the record show that the temperature of that plate was approximately -272 degrees Celsius. (A science aficionado will get that reference.) I think they must have chilled it with liquid nitrogen. Caesar himself was limp, and thus unsatisfying. But the croutons were like 3/4-inch minus, the stones of which driveways are made. Quite a contrast, between breaking my teeth off to nubs, and trying to swallow Caesar, who clung to my tonsils like Dracula wrapping himself in his cape to avoid the sun's rays.

The main course took so long that a different server came out to apologize. Gotta keep those tips coming, you know. I think he apologized. Because I couldn't read his lips in the darkness, and I couldn't hear his words over The Raging Bore Show. When our food finally came out, The Pony had regained his appetite after eating a loaf and a half of bread.

Both Thevictorian guys declared by charade that their meals were fabulous. My marinated chicken was the best fowl I ever ate. The seasoned mixed vegetable, though, were shockingly seasonless. Bland! With the taste of only...are you ready for this...VEGETABLES! I had carrot coins, and green beans, and broccoli. They were passable, as long as I ate them with a bite of chicken. Nobody told me this healthy food quest was going to be so tasteless. And full of roughage. One green bean had an inch-long stem on the end. I tried to eat it. Let nothing go to waste. No need to get the vegetables steamed. But I simply could not chew that stick. Not after the croutons took my teeth.

We didn't get out of there until after 8:30. When we got back to our hotel, I looked up the menu to make sure of the names of our dishes, so I would not violate the Truth in Blogging Law. Turns out those seasoned vegetables were actually SEASONAL vegetables!

An honest mistake for The Pony, seeing as how he was not-seeing in the dark.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Hick and The Pony Have the Bread, But Val Provides the Dough!

See this?

That's what happens when you go out to eat with Hick and The Pony. They are Breadertons. And The Pony is also a Butterton.

Here's the second round. I made The Pony take a picture before it was devoured again. However, he still got a slice before snapping that pic.

Let the record show that Val did not partake of that carbohydratey goodness. She has been cutting back, you know. Her meal was marinated chicken with seasoned vegetables, and a Caesar salad. The Pony had an 8 oz ribeye with baked potato, and Hick had a 10 oz ribeye with grilled shrimp and a loaded baked potato. We ate at Saltgrass Steak House.

Greetings from Oklahoma!