You Can Forget All Your Troubles, Forget All Your Cares

Two weeks ago, Tim and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary in downtown Minneapolis. We got a hotel room so we could imbibe and not worry about driving home. We didn’t have to worry about making sure there was room at the vet for boarding. It was also a Saturday night, so in the old days we would have booked our dog for two nights until we picked her up on Monday, because they’re not open on Sundays. It was a weird freedom to have.

For dinner we went to Fogo de Chao, which is a wonderful place if you like meat, which I do. They walk around to the tables offering various cuts of pork, lamb, steak, chicken, bacon-wrapped steak, bacon-wrapped chicken—you get the idea. It’s all fresh and hot and tasty and meaty and good.

After dinner, we rolled across the street to FireLake, where we had a couple drinks instead of dessert. We walked the skyway for a while, just to give ourselves some space between rounds, and I showed Tim the new Bank restaurant, which was a bank that was converted into a restaurant, and it looks pretty cool from the second floor.

Our skyway tour complete, we stumbled into Rossi’s. I kept rambling throughout the night about our dog situation, and at some point between the Manhattan and the Dirty Monkey, I turned to Tim and said, “You know what? Everything is going to be OK. It’s all going to work out. We’re going to find the right dog, and the right dog is going to find us.” And I felt at peace.

The next morning was a different story.

I should have stopped with the beverages after Rossi’s, but for some reason I thought additional drinks at The Local and at the hotel bar were a good idea. Sometimes, even though you’re in your 30s, you still need to relearn things you were taught years ago.