Nathan called me up on Saturday and told me he owed me a dinner. I couldn't remember that, but when Nathan says he'll grill me some steaks I think I'd be foolish to argue. He reminded me that he had promised me dinner for Father's Day and hadn't delivered yet.
So, I went over there tonight for a wonderful New York strip and Mary put together a great pasta salad (with enough for take-home) and there were shrimp to eat and what could be better. The Sox were on the tube, too (that part could have been better). So, besides Father's Day with Becky and her clan (steaks too) and a Father's Day/Ammon/Ben birthday at Sarah's I think I've extracted all I can reasonably expect to get from the holiday this year.
That was on top of a great opera night dinner at the Hale's on Sunday. There was lamb and tabuli and ham meatballs and I made a great feta-cucumber salad. Dot Hale completed the feast with a rhubarb pie, which was enough to put me on Cloud 9. We watched Aida, which was impressive and beautiful. Tomorrow I'm on my own for dinner and I doubt things will be as great.
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