Afternoon Delight.

[Wingnut]

I was sitting at my computer by the window yesterday when I looked up and saw the little red car zip into our parking space and an old man jump out.
“On no,” I thought, glancing at the clock. “3:30. My heart can’t take this excitement.”
I unlocked the door, and a second later my husband appeared. He hugged me tightly, backed up and said, “Wha’d’ya think? You wanna?”
“Oh, John, it’s too hot for the Nature Center. Let’s wait for a cooler day.”
“You know I’m not talking about the Nature Center,” he said, lifting and lowering his eyebrows in rapid succession.
“Oh John, really, we’re getting too old for this. It’s too much pressure, and we don’t have enough time.”
“Sure we do,” he said, looking at his watch, then giving me a come hither stare. “And age is just a number. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
I headed for the bedroom with Peter Pan on my heels.
He tore off his hospital-volunteer shirt and hurried to the bathroom while I removed my blouse and stepped into the closet. John was leaving the bathroom when I came from the closet and threw him a shirt. I put on a presentable blouse, then scurried into the bathroom for lipstick and a quick comb-thru. He stood at the door tucking in his shirt.
“Come on, you don’t need to do that. You look great.” My husband always says that.
He handed me “Old Blue,” and we rushed down the steps and got into the “Red Rocket,” John’s affectionate name for his late-life-crisis toy. I have to admit that behind the wheel of the cherry-red Scion XB, wearing his bright blue shirt, John looked like a young man -- not a gentleman of 85 with whistling hearing aids, a squeaky foot brace, and a groaning hernia.
I held onto the handle above the door as we zoomed onto the boulevard and headed south. At a red light, we looked frantically at the clock on the dashboard.
“Gonna be close!” My husband has always been a thrill seeker. Me? I closed my eyes. Minutes later, we pulled into a parking spot at our destination with only seconds to spare. John usually opens my door, but there was no time for niceties today. We hopped from the car, as though we were afraid of missing the overture at a hot-ticket Broadway musical – and ran through the door, stepping behind the last person in line just before the man pulled the rope across the aisle behind us and snapped it to the pole. Phew!
Anybody who thinks that true adventure and excitement are behind you when you’ve reached your eighties, clearly hasn’t experienced the Early Bird Special Senior Buffet at the Golden Corral -- with New England clam chowder that melts in your mouth, and corn bread worthy of the gods. Be warned. Prices go up at 4 o’clock.

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[Restored]

I eat there every week. Kiwanis. The food is not that great.