Our friends, a guy in Jon's company and his girlfriend, stayed this past weekend with us. I love them. A slight romance exists between us - me and the guy and the girlfriend. Jon most often sits alone in a corner. Just kidding (kind of). He's cute (kind of) so we keep him around.
me, a friend and Jon's other half
This weekend we all went to the post's volksfest, drank full liters of pils beer, devoured langos (deep fried pieces of fluffy dough traditionally smothered with garlic butter, cream sauce and cheese) and had a going-away BBQ for a friend.
This was all, of course, interspersed with shisha smoking, drunken stupidity and a couple injuries. Jon's still limping and I learned how to play chess (kind of). A herd of gigantic mutant-sized, road-blocking deer almost hit my car.
Our weekend of shenanigans finally ended with a nice dinner out for pork roast and knodel and then a trip to the train station so that Jon's friend's girlfriend could head back home to Nuremburg. My own anxiety drove us to the train station forty-five minutes early, so it was suggested that we head to the nearest gas station for a couple beers. In Germany, it's always beer-thirty.
With absolutely no prompting whatsoever (kind of) Jon's friend bought me and his lady some flowers. A colorful bouquet of daisies and greenery, not without a decorative felt heart pick, is front and center on my dining room table.
Jon was, instead of flowers, bestowed with this shining award for the gift he is to humanity:
Best GRANDPA in the world!
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