Ever since I went to part-time private-eying, me and Dolly-girl have been doing the rounds of movie parlours taking advantage of the fact that not many people go to the movies in the middle of the day and plus the seats are a little less pricey. Well, we've only upped our game since Dixie Devereaux hung up her stethoscope and told the last guy on the treadmill to "Keep it up 'til I get back..."
Dixie was more than ready to go when we pulled the roadster up to where JB and her set the brake. She's got one of them fancy doorbells that's tryin' to do away with the likes of the former me--you know, the private eye. I've been reading about them but it seems like they're more of a public eye. Anyhoo, which happens to be a word in the NT Times Spellling Bea game that me and Dolly-girl have been playing (I specialize in the 4 letter words but a lot of 4 letter words I come up with aren't allowed...) Dixie hops aboard and we're off.
We parked and took shank's mare further than any retired folks like to go--must have been a hundred yards. Dixie thought I had her on a treadmill--"You're like to killing' me Jack. Don't they have valet?" Well, being as how Dolly-girl, or Fiora as Dixie likes to call her 'cause she's all southern formal, got the time wrong for the moving picture show, we were seated an hour before the ads even started. But Dixie pointed out that it wasn't exactly like our calendars were full and besides, she and Fiora could use a good gab. I went out to see if Trouble was hanging around the lobby, but the only thing hanging around the lobby was an old guy with white hair looking--wait, looking in a mirror? How the ravages of time do strike.
The movie was good. Wasn't a dry eye among the 6 of us in the house. I won't go into the merits of the film because they are many and deep. Suffice it to say, we needed a beer. Dixie suggested it and heads were moving up and down. "Maybe we can talk JB out of work and drag him along,' she suggested and the rest of us--that would be me and DG--were on board with that. Turns out it didn't take a tow truck to haul him out of gainful employment for the day and 10 minutes later he hopped in the roadster and we set sail for The Moon and Six Pence, a pub where I'm going to be setting the brake a lot more often now that I've been there. Good idea, Dixie!
Missy asked us in, settled us in a booth, and wasted no time getting beers down in front of four thirsty pilgrims. One of us--the working stiff--might have had a reason to be thirsty. The other three, me included, were dehydrated because of crying our eyes out in the film, the merits of which were many and deep. You know it was serious because Dolly-girl ordered a beer, and then another one. OK, they were half pints, but two half pints make a quart in Dolly-girl's book and that's more beer than she drinks in a month of Mondays, which is how we retired people like to think of how time goes by. You know, we don't mind Monday a bit...
Seeing how retirement is so exhausting, we needed food. JB, the working stiff, had had lunch, but the rest of us, 'cause of the whole time warp issue with DG and the hour at which some of us arise, had skipped a meal. I've logged that in my diary for Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD who will say, "You know, Jack, you could never eat lunch again and you would have still have had too many lunches" except that she would have said it in a nice professional way. But lunch became dinner and dinner became, I guess, a snack as I had second something when I got home but doesn't writing this count for some sort of exercise? I didn't dictate it to Thelma!
