Jessica's 18 Birthday

December 28 marked that historic day in which Jessica turned 18 years of age. She was embarrassed twice: once in church where it was announced to the assembled congregation, and once at Bob Evan's where we ran into (figuratively speaking, I assure you) an elderly acquaintance who guessed Jessica's age at 16. In fact, the title of this post could also be called "Our Lunch On December 31 At Bob Evan's Celebrating Jessica's Eighteenth Birthday" but that is rather long, I think. (The elf that lives inside the computer whose sole job it is to write blog titles assured me that is was indeed rather long.)

We took Grandpa and loaded up and headed down town. We had called ahead (with a party of 11, it is a always a good idea, you know), so they were expecting us and pushed together 3 or 4 tables so we could all be cozy while we wolfed down our meal. The longest part of any going out to eat occasion is the preparation and arrival of the food, but the second longest is the choosing of said food.



My food finally came, and I alternated between taking pictures and actually eating.



Jessica: "You are not getting any pictures of me...are you?" (Said in the same tone of voice one would use to say "You're not going to walk into that rapidly revolving airplane propeller, are you?" Or to a small child "You're not going to pitch a fit here, are you?" [while brandishing a pitchfork or similar item.]

Katrina loved her food. She gets excited or upset over very small things, such as small pink plastic turtles named Harvey (different story).


We all enjoyed our food,

and the service was good. Waitresses (and I say this with all respect) have this almost-psychic ability to ask you if everything's fine when everything is and you don't want an interruption, and then to manage to vanish if, for example, your entire Smiley Sundae has just landed head-first on the carpet. Not that happened; just using that particular example as, well, an example.

After our Pecan Pie, we paid our bill, left a gigantic tip (seriously, next time we walk in, all the waitresses are going to want us) and left.