As she was driving across town yesterday afternoon, making a mental list of all the things she would need from the store to make eggs Benedict for dinner that evening, My Darling B realized that dinner and this lovely day would be best enjoyed at the same time on a patio, and that’s how we ended up at a table on the patio at Mickey’s Tavern on Willy Street.

That reminds me of my favorite joke: What’s Irish and sits in the sun all day? Paddy O’Furniture. You might have to say it aloud to get it.

It was the perfect day for dinner on the patio: The sun was still well above the trees because the lizards (I can’t help but think of politicians as lizards since re-reading So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish last weekend) made us set our clocks back an hour and it was shining down on us at an angle that was just right, keeping the patio warm enough to sit and eat without a jacket. A breeze swept away almost all the cigarette smoke, not from the two young ladies sitting right next to us, but from just about everyone else. A couple of puppies were wandering around, making friends. Toddlers were squealing with delight as their parents teased them with french fries. And two glasses of cold beer were close enough at hand that both of us could relax and let go the cares of the day.

Thank goodness for patios. And beer.

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