In an attempt to be supportive of my mother (she has to follow a strict, detoxifying diet), I spent the whole of last week recovering from sugar and caffeine withdrawals. By Saturday evening, my body sported a new shade of lethargy and it is possible that my memory has taken artistic license in my recollection of the night...but I'll do my best.

We were meeting internet acquaintances that evening, acquaintances of Miles' that I, too, was eager to meet. Two journeyed from Alabama, one from Indiana, and two from Wisconsin...and the five of us converged on Crystal Lake, Illinois like Pooh Bear to a honey jar. We planned to rendezvous in the local Bennigan's at five.

The traffic was terrible, and temperaments were not as pleasant as they ought to be. Nothing like a little road rage to make a person realize that it's never too early to buy a cemetery plot...but, I digress. Miles can laugh about it, so that's all that really matters, isn't it? Heck, for all we know, the Illinoisans use the middle finger to signal something entirely pleasant such as, "Peace, brother," or "May you be blessed with long life and eternal happiness." Yeah, now that I think about it, I'm sure that's what he meant.

We arrived at the restaurant and circled the parking lot looking for Jody and Tracy (Tracie? Traci? Tracey?), the ladies from Alabama. "What color is their car?" I inquired, logically. Miles had no clue, the dolt. "It's a Kia," he said by way of peace offering, which didn't help me at all...and I pieced together that a Kia must be a type of vehicle.

Eventually, we parked and entered the restaurant only to find them seated in the least likely of places: the seating area! Crazy, right? It's like they were just sitting there, just waiting for everybody else to show up! I couldn't believe our luck! What were the odds!?

The two of them were sweet and smiley and wore the edge of fatigue, having travelled 14 hours by car (probably even by Kia!) earlier that day. Scott, the chap from Indiana, was held up in traffic, so Miles decided to lead us to a restaurant nearer the interstate...to facilitate a return to the preset schedule. That, and, he was hungry.

Unfortunately, Scott did not enter Crystal Lake as Miles supposed he would, and his grand plan backfired. Retorts and sarcasm aplenty, Miles chauffeured the [black vehicle] and we wound up right back at Bennigan's. Trusty ol' Bennigan's.

Scott had a rakish, slightly dangerous countenance that seemed to threaten, "Stay on my good side or I'll steal your gummy bears...and maybe your milk duds too." Of course, that could have just been his tee shirt talking, as it proclaimed (and proudly) "Property of Alcatraz Psycho Ward".



I relaxed considerably after the first awkward moments as I realized that I wouldn't be ousted for my ignorance of the aforementioned Kia, and as I remembered that I don't eat gummy bears or milk duds. Phew...close one.

Jody and Tracy/Tracey/Traci/Tracie chatted about their children while Miles and Scott talked programming. Being a slightly pensive dinner companion, I stared out the window and watched the traffic streak past as their words intersected. "Did I tell you? We're going to re-code Dine Wilmington...with poopy diapers!"

We caught the strains from a Grease song as our conversation hit a lull. Scott's eyes got all big and sparkly and I imagined that he would have felt comfortable jumping atop a table and singing along, garbed in full poodle skirt, had we known each other but a little better.

Jody talked of a river. A big river. A seeming well-known river. They guessed with heavy sarcasm. "The Mississippi?" tried Miles. "Uh, the Mississippi," stated Scott. Meanwhile, Jody seemed cutely ruffled that she couldn't coax the name from the tip of her tongue. At wit's end, she flung her elbow to the table, erecting her forearm into a 90° angle. "The one that goes like this!" she exclaimed, her finger tips stretching toward the ceiling. It reminded me more of a geyser than a river, but hey, potay-to, potah-to.

In conclusion, the river's name was Mississippi.

Tracy/Tracey/Traci/Tracie looked pretty tired by the time we wrapped things up. I'm sure carrying four names like that would be taxing on anybody, to be fair. She seemed to be familiar with all things Illinoisan, perhaps even to the extent of being a native. I should have asked her about obscure hand symbols indigenous to the region, but I did not think.

It was a nice evening, and our waiter smirked at me as I made my way to the bathroom for the third time. Sorry we talked so long, Man...but hey, get off my back! You were tipped nicely!