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The husband and I stopped into a local seafood place the other day for a drink and a bite.

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The bartender whipped me up a few fabulous Snowy White Cosmopolitans…

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And somehow we got to chatting about cats. A few cocktails in I was talking about putting the harness and leash on Dudley and told the bartender that as soon as I said “walkies!” in my best falsetto… he came running. She looked at me oddly, so I explained the origin of the term.

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Barbara was a British dog trainer who had a show on PBS in the 80’s. When I mentioned her name, the bartender didn’t have a clue. Which is when I apparently insulted her by saying “You remember that show”. I truly thought she would, because ya know… we looked about the same age and she had previously commiserated with me about hot flashes. Turns out she wasn’t my age, not even close and she was less than pleased I thought so.

It was then that I realized I had broken the age old drinking rule… never piss off the bartender.

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It’s a good thing she’d delivered my crab quesadillas before my I let loose my poisoned comment.

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But clearly we’ll never be able to go back to this establishment. Which is a shame because it was a fun place, complete with an “I prefer my pets” love meter sangria dispenser…

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And an outboard motor kegerator.

Me and my big liquored up mouth. It will never learn.

🥴