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Cold weather, and I was the only one to bring a jacket. Me, giving up my jacket to Ina. Having to pay her to get it back. Oysters on the half shell that I could not swallow. The Tip-O-Meter hitting zero. Chocolate factories. Art galleries. Leather Hot Pants. Alcatraz. Pictures of Ina from the ground up. Bums lying in the gutters, drinking cheap vodka. Other bums trying to sell us used underwear on the street. A party in my split crotch pants. A crazy man (I assume) singing "I shot the Sheriff" and "Crystal Ship" (by the Doors) in the public washroom. Badly, very badly. And finally, stopping for gas and using the restroom. Said restroom being filled with feces on the floor, vomit in the garbage can, blood on the walls, gang symbols and a giant obscenity on the door. And much, much more.
After we all got eliminated in Div IA epee, we all hopped in Pete's car and headed to San Francisco for the afternoon and evening. We left Sacramento at 2:30, and 90 degrees. Pete, Chris and Ina picked me up at my hotel. They are in t-shirts and shorts. I have on my jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and my Jim Beam blue jean jacket. We drive for a while. Ina says to me (with a laugh and a smile):
Ina: "Don, why are you dressed like that? Aren't you going to be warm?"
Don: "It gets cold in San Francisco! The temp can drop to the fifties like that."
Ina: "What? I thought San Francisco was on the ocean!"
Don: "Yes, but it is still Northern California."
Ina: "Chris! Did you know about this?"
Chris: "Sure, but the cold doesn't bother me. Mark Twain was quoted as saying the coldest winter I ever spent was summer by the bay." Really? Share next time, would you, Chris?
Ina: "Well this sucks!"
Ina started
telling the story of when I let her drive my daddy's car back from
Sectionals in '99. When she was done, the following conversation ensued:
Ina: "Can I drive, Pete?"
Pete: "Ah, I don't think so."
Ina: "Why not? I'm a good driver. Just ask Don."
Don: "I don't think he's allowed to. His rental agreement has a No Bimbo clause."
Pete: "Ha ha ha."
Chris: "Ha ha ha."
Don: "Haw haw haw."
Ina: "Not fair!"
So we get to San Fran, pull into a parking garage, and sure enough, its in the upper 50's. Ina starts dancing around, holding herself. "Oh, its so cold!" So what do I do? Being a well raised gentleman, I give her my jacket. She smiles that sly smile of hers and says "Thank you, Don." I think she had it planned all along.
So later, we stop at a restaurant.
Don: "Ina, when can I have my jacket back?"
Ina: "I want to buy a jacket or a sweat shirt, Don. But I don't have enough money."
Don: "I'll buy you dinner. Go out and get something." So she leaves.
Then Pete says "It IS cold out. I'm going back to the car to get my sweat shirt out of the trunk."
I could have killed him.
So Pete returns with a nice, warm sweat shirt. Ina comes back 15 minutes latter, with her new San Francisco sweat shirt. We have dinner, then we go out exploring. But, she is still in the shorts. And the wind is blowing hard off the ocean. So she starts bugging me to buy her pants. I swear to God, no girlfriend I ever had was this demanding. And she's my coach!
Anyway, Ina is running into every shop and store in town. Not buying anything, mind you. No cash. She goes into a leather shop, where everything is at least $200.
Ina: "Don, are you going to buy me some leather pants?" she asks, in a voice loud enough to be heard back in Chicago.
"You make them hot pants, and I'll buy them." I say, as a verbal parrie.
Ina: "What are hot pants?"
Chris explains to Ina, leaving nothing to the imagination. Ina laughs.
Ina: "OK!"
But we never did find any.