For lunch we went to Pike Place Chowder, which makes pretty darn good seafood chowder if I do say so myself (and I do!). Miss V picked up their standard New England chowder, and I decided I couldn't resist a bread bowl full of seared scallop chowder. (Trust me, unless you have a scallop allergy or something, you couldn't either. It was fantastically delicious.)
Anyway, while we were sitting at a corner table messily devouring this savory white nectar o' Neptune, I couldn't help overhearing (well, neither could anyone else) a rather large and stentorian Italian restaurateur in an adjacent spot discussing one of his former employees, whom he referred to as "Mormon Dave." My ears perked up a bit.
"Yeah, remember Mormon Dave?" the proprietor asked his patron. "Good guy, but we liked to mess with him. You know what those guys are like." He chuckled. "But we ran him off eventually."
I was sorely tempted to mess with his head by hollering, "Hey, you only think Mormon Dave is gone. But he has a posse. We're watchin' ya, fat man!" But no, I had V with me and I think such behavior would have left her mortified. (She is almost a teenager, after all.) So I just sat peacefully and ate my chowder.
Ehh, you know what we Mormons are like. :)
Anyway, now I'm tempted to start a group called "Mormon Dave's Posse" just for grins. I have no idea what such a group would do, other than maybe put up street-art stencils of a missionary badge with "Mormon Has a Posse" underneath it. You wouldn't have to be a Mormon to join... you'd just have to affirm the Posse Oath, which is "I got your back, Dave... whoever you are."
|I'm such a dork.|