Ended the evening on a barstool at Dorota's side, in the lavish steakhouse, watching giant and thick-necked Buffalo Bills cavorting about with their girlie toys. One of them, the final Bill, tried to leave without paying his other sort of bill until the barkeep called his attention to that little slip of the mind. To (over)compensate the Buffalo Bill tossed a large bill in his grateful, now-obsequious direction.
And from the velvet curtain heading out this Buffalo Bill pronounced I'll be back with my wife, she'll love this place, as he left arm in arm with his lady friend.
The lavish steakhouse, unbelievably, was OUT OF OBAN and I had to settle for a lesser, less peaty scotch which, like the Buffalo Bill, is not worth naming.
Earlier had been the Janet Reno Fan Club Christmas banquet with usual mayhem following wine, gift exchanging, Polaroid documentation by Yours Truly, then a drive to the airport to p/u Dorota, a house party then the sad scotch moment.
Today is the eve of Christmas, the day when Jesus was allegedly born although once I read he was truly a Libra as is Your Favored Nancy. Of course Jesus was a Libra, a fairminded Buddhist who liked the drink.
December was when those dusty, scraggly-assed wisemen found him.
Happy days, happy holidays and happy nights.