On the way to work this morning I heard on the radio today is Fat Tuesday. Immediately I'm interested thinking it's a Weight Watcher's sponsored event that I need to participate in. Maybe like the million man march, but for us plump people.
Yes, plump. Don't judge.
Anyway I soon realized that I would not be walking next to my spandex bound sisters-in-weight-loss and that they were talking about THE Fat Tuesday in New Orleans.
Duh.
I have never been to THE Mardi Gras but we have been to New Orleans pre-Katrina. Bourbon Street was crazy on a random weeknight so I cannot even imagine what Mardi Gras is like.
We spent some time there drinking hurricanes and gambling in the casino. We stayed in a nice, historic hotel across from one of Emeril's restaurant and rode in a limo to the port. We were there a couple days before our cruise ship left and enjoyed every dang minute of it.
But if you ask S, he will tell you to never order "the special".
One of those nights we were wandering around and came across a restaurant on one of the side streets. I cannot recall the name, but I know it was two story and the smells coming from their doors beckoned us to come inside.
Once seated the waiter described "the specials" and then left us to make a decision. When he returned he brought us a sample of "the special"...and we were sold. "Specials all around!" we replied.
Well, except for me since "the special" involved some sort of seafood and I loathe all types of seafood.
The food was served and the table fell silent. I ate my Florida-sized plate of pasta and the others devoured "the special". We all ate until we could barely breathe anymore. Then the waiter cleaned the table and brought our check.
S learned on that day that you have to ALWAYS ask how much "the special" costs or you may be at risk of a heart attack once you see the check.
And that is the story he tells when whenever we talk about our trip to New Orleans.
My story? Let's just say it involves some nudity.
And that's all you are getting from me.
