Yesterday was our last day of school here, all two and a half hours of it.
I was very surprised when Hubby came home around noon, since I know he's got a lot of work to do this week before we leave at week's end for vacation. Plus, it's VBS week at church, and he's emceeing, teaching a class, and serving as motivation for the kids to raise $500 in offering (to go to a local charity): the kids will have a picnic, bounce house...and a dunk tank.
My understanding is that the kids immediately started chanting to dunk Hubby. (You might remember last year's reward.)
Innyhoo...Hubby came home to see if we'd like to go out to lunch to celebrate the end of the school year. I jumped all over that; my wrist is still in constant pain, and the thought of making sandwiches made me whimper.
So, out we went. We could either go to our favorite local eatery, or go fast food, because they'd be about the same price, honestly.
We opted for our favorite place. We're friendly with the owners, and the food is good.
They have this one waitress during the school year who looks remarkably like my cousin. I was a little disappointed that she wasn't working yesterday.
And, it seemed, they'd hired someone new.
We've seen this guy there before, as a patron, or a friend just dropping by.
You really can't miss him.
He's got tattoos. Lots of them. On his arms. On his neck. On his face. On his scalp, with his hair buzzed short on the sides of his head (giving him a long, flowing Mohawk) so that you can see the ink there.
And, the pièce de résistance, a spike through his septum that tapers at both ends.
There was a quiet conversation about not staring.
It was toward the end of our meal, with the kids doing a pretty decent job of not staring too much and Medium being a tad afraid of this guy, that Large Fry observed, "Maybe he has that 'cause his nose is running, and that thing makes it not run anymore."
Hubby had to muffle his chuckle.