Have you or anyone you know ever been congratulated by a mobile dog groomer on your 44th wedding anniversary?
It was kind of a complicated day for a “celebration.” The day before, two of our friends, a married couple, had been sentenced to jail. A little before dinner on the day itself, daughter Cait called to tell us about the excellent memorial she’d arranged for a friend of hers who had just died; it was moving and beautiful as she told it, but, following our friends’ debacle and during a marital milestone, there it was… death.
But to get on to planning our dinner celebration.
Should we choose a high-concept, expensive whirl with glitz and champaign? Is there such up here? And is that in any way us? We’d have to drive 50 miles to Williamsport; a hundred-mile round trip wasn’t quite what we felt in the mood for.
We have 3-4 places we go for our weekly dinner, in no particular order, for no particular reason. On this special day we both leaned toward The Barn, outside Eagles Mere: a straight-forward bar setting with attached dining room that serves about 20. It can get rackety at times because of the ancient tin ceiling that reflects gayety, but it’s low-key, friendly, with good food and excellent service. The final selling point, for me: They cram every last drop of Yukon Jack into a way-oversize shot glass.
Since this was a Thursday, we figured it wouldn’t be crowded, but we were forgetting it was the first Thursday of the Fall Fair, which is a big deal up here. The dining room was filled solid, so we had to settle for a fairly isolated 2-seater near the bar.
That was just fine, still friendly and cheery, but how to get served? Would the waitress find us in this not-so-obvious corner, or were we supposed to order from the bar? Well, I solved that problem, as I almost always do, by sitting there waiting for something to happen. Eventually the very busy waitress did find us, and we ordered our simple but substantial meal of cheese steak and Barn Burger. And drinks.
We don’t usually tend to party or make a show of ourselves, but we did dress up a bit that night, with Linda wearing an amazing, high-sparkle green jacket that she’d put together for her character in a play last year.
We were really enjoying ourselves, reading the ad placemat – we love ad placemats – while waiting for our goodies to appear, when a strange but wonderful encounter took place.
A woman of 50 or so walked over from the bar, stopped, and asked us, “Are you on your first date?”
A couple thoughts came immediately: First, that’s an odd thing for any stranger to do or say at a bar. Second, she was saying this to an obvious codger and codgerette.
“Actually,” I said, “this is our 44th anniversary.” [I’ve always been obsessed with exactitude in numbers.]
Neither Linda or I can recall her exact reply – probably “congratulations,” plus some general reason for the “date” comment. Then she went on to tell us that, yes, she was a mobile dog groomer [that is, one who drives a panel track around to service the hair and toenails of canines; as a matter of fact, we’d noticed her truck in town]. We then had a nice chat, telling her where we lived and her telling us that she knew our road and the two ponds, etc.
She smiled heartily and walked back to the bar. About 20 minutes later, Linda went over to get refills on our drinks. Half a minute later the bar burst out in loud cheering and clapping. It was obvious: “Congratulations on your anniversary.”
Somehow that tied the whole evening together into something unique and wonderful, in a setting that could have been anywhere from fine to indifferent. It was probably the best anniversary we’ve ever had.
Maybe it’s somehow natural, during our talk at the table, that we did not ask the dog-groomer’s name, and she did not ask ours. But the encounter did leave us with a few ponderables:
What would have led her to think we were on any kind of date, much less our first?
Was it something in Linda’s shiny, exuberant jacket? [I’m pretty much Every-Geezer in settings like this.]
Had she just thought us approachable but didn’t know quite what do say, so came up with something chipper but unlikely on the spur of the moment?
Does she collect or enumerate encounters with people in bars as an avocation [she didn’t seem the type]?
Are Linda and I so closely bonded that we broadcast an ineffable giddiness when together?
Was it because it was Thursday or that she’d groomed an especially lovable dog?
Whatever: Our thanks to her for making the evening one that we can genuinely cherish. And I’m pretty damned sure no on will ever again mistake our dining table as the stage setting for a first date.
lickhaven 