Just Another Cowboy Bar

Howdy Doody Time

Dave has landed. We four after much deliberation settled upon Blueberry Hill for a mid-afternoon repast. At that time of day, it was not a hopping place and we had our choice of almost any table. All but Dave had had a light lunch. Anne and I each settled for just a cup of soup, while the boys each had a more manly meals. Conversation dwelled on Warhammer 40K, a miniatures game that the guys play. Even though I had gotten them both started with 40K, which Anne pointed out, we both felt left out of the loop on this. We tried to distract them with snide remarks, but they were impervious to our derision.

In the end, we should be pleased that the boys have learned how to get along with each other so well. We certainly worked hard on getting them to do this. Next month, they plan for Dan to head up to Boston, hangout and play 40K. Years ago, we would have killed for them to get along like this.

Blueberry Hill is not just another cowboy bar, no matter what little Dan once announced in his unusually loud voice, to God, the world and his grandparents, “You’re not taking me to another cowboy bar, are you?” Anne and I were so mortified. It is a bar and it does have cowboys in it, but it is usually frequented by college students, not ranch hands. The place is chock full of pop culture memorabilia, including the pictured display case devoted to Howdy Doody, a type of cowboy, who would likely make an impression on a small child. 

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