To clarify, I said, "So you want to go to an Italian restaurant in town that is not Olive Garden but is Olive Garden?!" I should have known he wouldn't even order chicken parm once he got there either.
Jules and Fam surprised WG by joining us for dinner at the Olive Garden that wasn't but was actually Olive Garden. I'm still not sure if the look on WG's face was excitement or dread. If nothing else, maybe he'll learn from this experience and bring his own family for the next celebration. For your entertainment, I've included some excerpts from the conversation.
Discussing a factory job Jules and I both had in college, Bear reminded her that she at least worked in air conditioning. I reminded everyone that she was a table top stripper. "Mom was a stripper?!" George asked. His mother tried to explain that it was a printing term, but Birdy and Flash were laughing too hard to hear the legitimate explanation.
We learned from Birdy that girls can actually just call "dibs" on a boy. I didn't realize. This might have changed my dating life dramatically. (WG said I could dib him if I wanted to. Whew.)
George, reading off the kids' menu, "What is the Indian name for Naples?" (His fifth grade teacher would be so proud.)
Despite getting Indian confused with Italian, several of us at the table scored decently on George's menu quiz. Except for Jules (and WG who believed that Mt. Vesuvius is a city) but we all know that strippers just aren't that smart.
We helped George fill in the mad-lib on the menu as well. He went around the table asking us each for a different part of speech for the story. Flash needed to come up with an activity. He was futzing around with his straw and bits of napkin while he pondered the question, so when he finally declared that he just didn't have any ideas, George filled in the blank with "pee shooter". We tried to correct his spelling to make the activity a bit more pleasant, but George was too delighted with the idea of a urine shooter.
When the bill arrived, George asked why his dad was paying it and not his mom. Bear explained that strippers just don't make that much money solidifying the odds that George will in fact explain to his teacher and class in the very near future that his mom, an active member of her small town community, is actually a stripper.
The fact that WG was so delighted to have my family join us for dinner further worries me. Who would endure conversations such as these, in public no less, and feel grateful for the opportunity?!
A crazy 40 year old man, I suppose. Happy Birthday, Part I, WG!