I wonder if our GPS is possessed. Heck, I wonder if my
husband is possessed sometimes too. I swear he tests me on a daily basis. Need
an example you say? I have three words for you…
The Cozy Corner
Oh, yes. The name sounds nice, but it’s the last place a
priss like me frequents. And thanks to our lovely GPS, it lead us right by it
while barking its orders at us in one female voice and then another. No – I am not kidding about the two
voices. One sounds quite pleasant, the
other is more grumpy and sounds like she has been smoking a carton of
cigarettes a day for years and years. The pleasant voice dominates most of the
time, but as soon as we hit the Montana line, Miss GPS starting spazzin’ on us.
Honestly, I am not sure whose voice we heard before we
got to the Cozy Corner, but I was filled with such dread walking in the door
that I think I have blanked it out.
The Cozy Corner *is* centered on the corner, but I am not
sure you would call it cozy. It was a bar – a bar that obviously had no one
coming by to check on them for health code violations – or ANY violations for
that matter. As I walk in, I see three people turn around to stare at us and I
instantly cringe. I feel like an outsider, and no matter how hard I might act
like I belonged there, it was apparent I didn’t. This didn’t stop my husband
any, as he walked up to the bar and asked if they had anything good to eat.
Gack…. I think…. *we* might be the food if they don’t
like you saying that I think. But the stooped over bartender exclaims that
everything is good there and gives us menus and we sit down at a table. I make
the mistake of looking around and notice empty boxes lining half of the wall, a
cardboard cutout of some cheerleader gal that is signed stuck behind those
boxes and a fireplace with ‘Cozy Corner’ on it that apparently had flames
shooting outside it judging by the black soot lining the wall upwards a few
feet.
Gack… I think again….I am not sure my stomach can handle
this place. I look towards the bar and see the sideways glances of the people
sitting up there – weathered, scrunched up faces that were sizing me up.
Gack.. I think once again …and I look at my husband as he
tells me to relax and chuckles.
*&^%$%$^”, I think, “I will show him” as I try to
act nonplussed that I was there.
I didn’t do a good job at it, because when I told him
what I wanted to order, he orders me two shots of rum also. Which I think is
fine, makes me look bada$$ right? Like I am not too prissy to drink something
that hardcore right? =)
Well, I did get my rum and diet pepsi (shush, even
hardcore people drink diet pepsi! Uhh…don’t they?), altho I looked longingly at
the glass wanting a straw so bad I am pretty sure I nixed any badassedness they
might have all been initially thinking about me.
BUT, the rum helped and I started to relax some. The food
came and it was decent and most importantly, my stomach is not gurgling in
utter frustration yet. And as we walked out the door, we were told to have a safe
trip, which I found nice.
Altho, I was a bit too eager to get to the truck and
wonder if they knew something we didn’t and this trip would be my last, but…
Oh dear, I am starting to sound like our GPS I guess…..
