The waitress, who’s name I never did get over the ambient noise, was from Georgia and was really sweet. She took excellent care of us and was there to refill drinks (or at least try, although after one margarita the size of a wine carafe I decided I didn’t need any more) and make sure that we had a good time. There was a mechanical bull, and the boys all had their eye set on trying it – or at least daring each other to try it until someone got goaded into it. Caleb seemed the most determined for some reason. Unfortunately, it was not to be – the damned lawyers had apparently gotten through to management and there were all kinds of releases to be signed – along with the requirement that participants be at least 18 and have an ID to back it up.
She tried to smooth those feelings out, though, by comping us with this enormous desert – this, after we’d each eaten roughly a side of beef. Amazingly enough, though, they managed to put a dent in it before we left. A number of the brownies and cookies came back to the room (to eventually be left behind) because there was simply no way to force any more in.The evening ended up with the kids in the hot tub downstairs while all the adults nodded off in a tryptophan coma (or the beef equivalent of the same) until they came in.
