Not one to let my health, or anything else for that matter, get in the way of a good time, I bucked up, did some yard work, then enjoyed a bottle of wine with Live Longer. I did so, however, with a disclaimer, “I’m probably pretty ripe. I haven’t showered for two days.” “That’s fine. The other day I had a total sweat circle under my right pit,” she replied.
Towards the bottom of the bottle, her husband, Tongue-adoras, contacted her and we decided to meet them at a restaurant within walking distance of my house. Being that I had only a few minutes to get ready, I threw on a skirt, sweater, boots and then took a look at my hair. “I’m not sure what to do with this. It’s kind of doing it’s own comb over in a variety of directions,” I told Live Longer. “Hmmm. Do you have a headband?” she asked. I did, and I put it on, but it was clear more help was needed. “Maybe I should wear a beret,” I suggested. “Or a wig,” Live Longer quipped.
Once at the restaurant we immediately started eating and drinking. Tongue-adoras was thoroughly enjoying all of the intense flavors. In fact, he was doing so with much more intensity than the rest of us. “I’ve got what they call a topographical tongue. I’m very sensitive to taste,” he told me and then showed me his tongue. “No pressure for me,” Live Longer whispered to me.
After sharing several tapas plates, Tongue-adoras said, “I like dining like this. What is it called? Al fresco?” “She’s learning French, ask her,” Live Longer told Tongue-adoras. “I’m pretty sure that’s Italian,” I replied using my arms for emphasis.
Regardless of whether Italian or French, the meal was superb and I learned something new, “It’s called tongue-adoras, right?” “No, topographical,” Tongue-adoras replied, then stuck out his tongue again. Just as Italians speak with their arms, Tongue-adorians speak with their tongues.