An Irish sort of day

For "work," Ben and I drove downtown to Waxy O'Connors. Grumbling about the traffic and parking, Ben was not a happy duckie. But once we passed through the wooden doors, everything changed.

Coddled in the dark wooden bar and restaurant, Ben and I found ourselves with Beverly and her husband, Libby and our staff photographer at a table. The co-owner (Tim) and his wife (Titi) and baby joined us, and chaos and conversation ensued. It was loud, it was noisy and it was crowded. I was delighted. The Blonde Duck, a hermit who despises loud noises and crowds was happy in an Irish Pub. You know it had to be good.

Even after I knocked over my water in my enthusiasm to talk about The Girls Next Door (have ya'll watched that show? It fascinates me. I don't understand it. I'm intrigued by the entire premise and have all sorts of theories and Titi told me a fascinating one today. But that's another post.) and soaked my lap, I was still happy. A group of Irish dancers took the floor and the sounds of heels tapping against the wooden floor and Celtic violins filled the air. Ben and I split a order of fish and chips and a delicious apple pie. We talked and laughed and shouted over the music.

It was honestly a magical afternoon. With the unseasonably cold air rushing through every time the wooden doors opened and the Irish and Swedish accents burbling around the table, I really couldn't believe we were still in the Pond. I expected leprechauns and Celtic goddesses in long gowns floating in fog to come through the door any moment.

With Titi and Tim's baby* on my lap and apple pie in my belly, I harassed Libby with stories of my dreams and grinned and giggled. And when we finally dragged ourselves away, we left with a smile.

"We should meet them for dinner again," Ben said as we walked down the River Walk. "We could come down during the week or something. And we should bring your parents down. It's the perfect place to entertain."

"It is, it is," I agreed, trying not to run over the pigeons scuttling around. "I think it'd be a lot of fun to hang out with them again. They're great folks!"

"That's just a cool, family type of place," Ben said. "Everybody's holding the baby, everyone brought their husband or kids--just real comfortable, fun and good food."

It was an Irish sort of day.

****This baby was the best baby I have ever seen in my entire life. He did not cry, he did not fuss. He was passed from person to person and was totally content. He did not even scream when Ben looked at him. (All babies are terrified of Ben.) He did not rip my earrings out of my ears. He did not puke, snot or slobber on me. Instead, he sat on my soaked jeans happily and chewed on Ben's keys, cooing happily. If raising a baby in a bar is what it takes to have that kind of well-adjusted child, Ben and I will move our children into Waxy O'Connors.