A good friend had surgery last week and Parker and I decided to stop by his house last night to see how he's doing. Our friend loves a good scotch so I decided to stop any get him a bottle to cheer him up (and so Parker and I could have a little nip, too). Parker knows scotch better than I do and recommended Lagavulin--"he likes 'em smokey," he said.
Our friend lives in Bexley so I left downtown and pedaled out Main Street, figuring I'd find a state store somewhere along Main. By the time I hit the Whitehall city limits, I'd seen plenty of carryouts, but no liquor store. I finally found one, but from the tired facade, the newspapers over the windows and the trash accumulated by the entrance, I seriously doubted whether they would have the Lagavulin.
But believe it or not, they did have the Lagavulin. It comes in a lovely box that didn't fit very well in my backpack, so I stuffed it in the best I could and checked my email to see where Parker was. "I'm in New York City with my daughter--I thought we were talking about visiting on Friday." Obviously a miscommunication.
I headed back down Main to Giusseppi's, a very nice Italian restaurant in Bexley. I stumbled into the restaurant in my spandex with the Lagavulin hanging out of my backpack and ordered a stiff drink and called my wife to join me for dinner. We had a lovely dinner and as we were leaving, one of the bartenders pointed to my backpack and inquired, "Lagavulin?" "Yes," I told him, "long story." "Nice......," he replied.
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