Many years ago, when I was but a young girl, my sister and I used to enjoy going various places after church on Sunday as a treat. We always loved when our Grandpa Floria came to visit us, because that meant a trip to the bakery, not far from our house, called the Red Brick Oven, where I would get my very own brownie (with frosting!) and Grandpa would get a brownie too, along with a cup of coffee.
One day, before church, Dad advised the two of us that we would be going to his friend's house after church, and that we had to be sure to be extra good during church so we could go. We asked, "What friend? Who is it?" But he would say no more. We were left to our own imaginations as to who this unknown friend was.
We were anxious during church, and speculated to each other as to who this mysterious friend was. Was he Dad's boss, Andre? No, Dad said, it's not Andre. Was it our friend who joined us for Italian meals, Mr. Olson? No, Dad said, it wasn't Mr. Olson. Was it our old neighbor, Mr. Nelson? Nope, said Dad, it's not Mr. Nelson and pretty soon you're going to not be able to go if you ask any more questions!
Hmmm...what other friends did Dad have that we didn't know about? Could there be that he knew MORE people than we knew?? Naahhh, we just couldn't believe it.
So after church, Dad finally told us the first name of this mysterious friend: George. His name was George.
"Does George have kids?" we asked.
"No, he doesn't," Dad replied.
"Does he have a dog?" we asked.
"'Fraid not," Dad said.
"How far away does he live? Will we be there soon?" we asked.
"Not far, and we're almost there!" Dad said.
And sure enough, we turned a corner, and here was his friend George's place:
I think we had to finally walk in to the place before my sister and I realized that it was a restaurant and not a man's house.
Did I ever tell you what a smartass my dad is?