I exited the hermit cave and hob-knobbed with real people!

Yes, I did. I almost didn't, but I did.

I'm so proud of myself.

I haven't been out to a restaurant in at least six years. Hell, I've not been more than a mile from home in that long.

Tonight, I went for it.

I had a few chest-tightening moments, but the boyegg and his 'new dad' friend kept me jabbering and it wasn't so bad.

I dressed in something not "what-not-to-wear-esque".

My son and his 'new dad' came by and picked me up. He (my son) and I did some reconciling while sitting in rush hour Chicago traffic on my favorite road in the world, Lake Shore Drive.

I babbled about the sights like a well-schooled tour guide, pointing out the obvious as well as the little known, quirky stuff.

We went to my favorite restaurant, RJ Grunts.

Birthplace of the salad bar.

 

 

We had drinks made with top shelf liquor. (BTW, Maker's Mark makes for a fabulous whiskey sour.)

They gave us a booth in the back, where I could see the door. (It's the ONLY way I can handle sitting anywhere in public for any time without freaking out.)

I tasted my first martini.

I had my favorite French onion soup.

We took pics.

We laughed.

We played music trivia to the 70's tunes that were being piped over the speakers. (The Shazam app is the shit!)

The waiter brought me the most delicious, rich, ice cream sundae EVAR, with a candle and DID NOT SING!

I closed my eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candle.

Benny and the Jets came on and we all sang low. It was weird, too, because that is one of my girleggs' favorite songs. It was like she was there in spirit.

ma-ga-zayyyy-eeeeeeeeeeennnnnn-oooooooooooooooooooo

B-B-B-Benny and the Jets

He brought me flowers, a balloon, a card and chocolates.

Oh, and the cutie-patootie waiter said he thought my son was my brother.

It was perfect.