I woke up the next morning still mostly-upright on the couch, having not moved once. Bazooka’s fiance Bri handed me a coffee and said we were going out for breakfast, and I immediately fell in love with her. Keep her, Baz.
We drove into downtown Philly for dim sum in Chinatown, then second dim sum at a place that had better soup dumplings and scallion pancakes than the first location. As if Chinatown hadn’t been overwhelming enough for two river rats who hadn’t had any social interaction for a month, we then took a terrifying tour through Reading Market that consisted of more smells, people, and sounds than I’d ever seen in one place. The entire time Baz offered up a running commentary of historical factoids about literally everything we passed, peppered with updates on rugby gossip and a plethora of terrible/wonderful jokes.
Back at the house for hot showers and more beers, Bazooka delighted in Steve’s “1930’s era explorer” look and love of terrible puns and Steve was treated to the horror stories of my shenanigans in my early rugby career. We watched ‘Big Trouble in Little China’ and I reflected on how lucky we are to have such fantastic friends and family who are so tolerant and supportive of our bad adventure ideas while Bri made ribs and steaks for a cookout with the neighbors.
I have never eaten such incredible meat products. Sorry, Mom; sorry, Grandma; sorry to all the uncles and relatives that have such faith in their grilling prowess. Bri has you beat.
We lounged off the food coma on the couch watching ‘Young Frankenstein’, but at least managed to drag ourselves into the guest bed instead of falling asleep sitting up for the second night in a row.