I had lunch today with Sherri and Jodi. Sherri and I used to work with Jodi, who quit almost a year ago when she had her second kid. The three of us comprise three-fifths of a "reading group" that still meets regularly but hasn't group-read a book in years. Jodi brought her nine-month-old daughter Charlotte with us. Jodi and her husband call Charlotte "The Goat" because she eats grass and paper.
We had lunch at Beadle's, this wonderful, old-timey cafeteria. I used to eat there regularly but haven't been in ages; the place was sold to new owners since I last visited and now features a salad bar, Chinese food, and sushi in addition to the familiar pea salad and turkey-with-all-the-fixin's lunch. (Oh, and classic cafeteria dessert -- I topped off my meal with a cup of custard.) The food was as predictably, lovably mediocre as ever. We mostly gossiped about work, because our other reading group members don't work with us and easily get tired of listening to stories about people they don't know; today we felt free to rag on everybody and everything. The Goat ate rice cakes and Chinese noodles and hardly screamed at all.
While we were walking back to work, I told Sherri and Jodi that I'm going to see Poseidon tonight. "Why are you gonna see that?" Jodi demanded. "It got the worst reviews." She paused, then said, "I wish I could go with you."