The Cozy Corner

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…..