A quick Saturday night story:
I didn’t intend to mention anything about a certain football team from beating another football team in a highly-anticipated matchup in South Bend this past weekend.
But then I went to a party on Saturday evening. I was debating whether or not I was going to head out, so I texted a friend to ask how the party was. “Wine and cheese situation,” he replied.
I took that to mean this was either an intimate or classy gathering (or perhaps both). So I asked the friend 1) if there was actually cheese at the party (which would be a major draw), and 2) if it was an intimate gathering. Friend responded that yes, there was cheese, and via picture, informed me that there was a decent number of people at the party.
So I got over the fact that I’m at the point in my life where the presence of cheese factors into my party-attendance determination, got in my car, and drove on over.
True to the “wine and cheese” text, the party was a more upscale affair. It wasn’t black tie or anything – just think more “wine and tasteful attire” and less “natty and cleavage,” populated by the young urban professionals that half the DC city council would love to murder if they weren’t funneling all sorts of tax dollars their way.
So imagine my surprise when, from my Coors Light (you can take the boy out of the Midwest…) infused perch on the couch (my ankle hurt and even if it didn’t, I don’t dance and I don’t mingle) saw two green Michigan State hats hovering amongst the crowd.
I wondered who these characters were. There aren’t too many Michigan State grads in DC, mostly because Wrigleyville is located in Chicago, but I figure I know most Michiganders in our social circle. One of the kind young ladies who lived in the home, unfamiliar with these two gents, approached Ace and Gary and asked them who they knew. “John,” they replied. Knowing that our friend John, at the party as well, was a native Michigander, the young lady assumed they were friends of ours, and didn’t immediately spray them with a fire extinguisher as is standard protocol when approached by two identified Spartans.
Alas, these fine young Americans did not know John. They did not know anybody. And the Coors Light I was enjoying on the couch would be my last of the evening. I would switch to wine once upon being informed that all our beer was gone after two gentlemen in Michigan State hats had raided the kitchen and took off out the door.