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I stood in line behind a young lady at the “Just Love Coffee Café” in Nolensville, Tennessee, trying to get a better look at the tattoo running down her left forearm…without looking like I was trying to get a better look at the tattoo running down her left forearm!
It was a hunting dog. A Black and Tan hound I believe. But my peeks were hurried and scattered. She ordered a White Chocolate Tiramisu Latte. I had only an inkling that latte is some fancy word for coffee but I had noticed the holes in her jeans. Maybe I could pay for her drink, you know, help her out a little…
$5.17
Are you kidding me! I stared at the register in astounded disbelief! She musta ordered the pancakes and bacon when I wasn’t looking.
I would like to be polite, do a good deed, help a young damsel obviously in need of a whole pair of pants…but you never know. She might think me a meddling old man.
I let her pay for her own drink.
And ordered the sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. And a glass of sweet tea. I didn’t figure I could afford the coffee in this place.
I wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for my mindless son. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and alternate weekends the boy takes after his mother. He bought some steaks off of a guy parked at a service station… Boy howdy, you talk about a sure sign that you are in Tennessee!
Josh had grilled the steaks the night before. They looked fine. Smelled great. But somehow I couldn’t get over how we came by this meat. I didn’t know if it was butchered after dark in somebody’s back pasture or taken out of an Omaha Steak package on someone’s front steps two months ago. What if these steaks were “picked up” in Texas. Isn’t there some kind of law against eating stolen beef that has been transported across state lines?
As you might well imagine, I ate rather guardedly.
And woke up hungry. And after the grandkids were off to school, I went looking for the Nolensville Cracker Barrel, Bojangles or Mary Lou’s Sweet Down Home Country Cooking Breakfast House.
Failing to find a familiar early morning culinary moniker, I took a chance on the first “café” sign I saw. I was getting desperate. And it’s hard to mess up eggs and sausage.
The only available table was next to the hound dog tattooed girl. At least the place was popular, that was a good omen in any eatery…
“Festus.”
“Ma’am?” I don’t hear as well as I used to. And my mind was a thousand miles away……
“His name is Festus.” The young lady was holding up her forearm so I could get a real look at the dog. And she was grinning from ear to ear. “I saw you eyeing him at the counter.”