Coldcocked by Flannigan's Right Hook

A couple weeks ago, The Hub and I got a whole night out together. Our first in...sit down...eight years. We decided to celebrate by spending the night in Weston, Missouri, the town where we fell in love, where we spent our wedding night, and where we were inspired with our first son's name.

Part of our decision to go to Weston was O'Malley's -- a cool Irish pub a mere thirty or so steps from our B&B room door -- a place we always made sure we visited whenever we were in Weston when we were younger. That's where we discovered how much things can change in the span of just eight years:

1) Eight years ago, I was still mostly in my '20s. And I mean really mostly in my '20s, not the mostly in my '20s that I am now (which is to say, not at all in my '20s). Back then I needed to carry ID to order a beer. Two weeks ago, I carried my ID. The only thing I used it for was to get a wedge of beer cheese out from between two molars.

2) Eight years ago, I would've run out of money before I ran out of ability to walk. We were poor back then. Now I could afford enough of some drink called an Irish Car Bomb I was able to smell my liver smoldering. Or maybe it was my Visa.

3) Eight years ago, the bar would've closed way too early. Two weeks ago, I was checking my watch at 10:00, wondering if I'm going to be missing anything good on Leno.

Not that we were without fun. There was this great band called Flannigan's Right Hook tearing up the stage when we got there. That is, if you can call four former orchestra jocks with a guitar, a drum set, a cello-like instrument (okay, maybe it was actually a cello. Or, if my Irish Car Bomb memory serves me correctly, it could also have been a giant talking salmon), and a fiddle tearing up a place. Let's just say in my memory they were the best musical act I'd seen in like...well, eight years. They even seemed to cater to old-timers like myself, playing Eleanor Rigby, Heart of Gold, and a version of The Devil Went Down to Georgia that had me so rowdy I think I tore something.

It was a high time for The Browns that night.

Which brings me to my ultimate discovery of what's changed in eight years.

The aftermath.

The next day my head hurt. My stomach ached. I swear I peed dust. My tongue had been replaced by a very absorbent diaper. My eyes burned. I was greasy. I smelled like smoke. I had six new zits. My shorts were too tight. My shoes hurt. And...good Lord, help me...the most embarrassing...

My arms were sore from clapping above my head too much.

It may be another eight years before they let us out alone again. Thank God.

Comments

[Paula]

Hey Jen,

This is hysterical!! Boy, you really cut loose girlfriend :) But you know what...YOU DESERVE IT. Better rest up for that next night out, huh?

Paula

[Jennifer Brown]

Sorry, guys! I forgot to attach my name to this one (perhaps wisely).
Jennifer Brown