It’s been a fine day. I’m a fortunate fellow. Pushing the envelope of cosmic favor, I ask if they have any dark ales or porters on tap. “What’s that?” our server responds. “Beer.” “Oh, yes, we do have beer on tap. Why didn’t you ask? Bud and Bud Light. Could I bring you one of those?” she asks sweetly. Whatever my luck, it’s obviously run out. I replicate Lisa’s request for red wine. Lisa seeks my opinion on the culinary offerings, something I can’t recall her doing on any of the several occasions we’ve dined in downtown Manhattan (New York, not the Gallatin Valley). I advise her to stick with beef and avoid seafood. “What’s a hamburger steak?” “A thick, rectangular patty of ground beef cooked like a steak,” I reply, pleased to expand my sweetheart’s knowledge of cuisine. Later, at the motel, the stout, dour proprietress confirms the availability of a room. “Turn the TV down,” she shouts into the living quarters behind the counter where a couple of kids are staring at the tube. “Ain’t smokers are ya?” “Nope.” “Got any pets? We don’t take no animals and there’s a cleaning charge if you sneak one in.” “No pets.” The room is nondescript, but very clean. In less time than it normally takes to fall asleep, the
Montana Headwall
Page 42 Fall 2010