Snowy Biscuit and I were sitting at the copper topped bar. I had been explaining the differences in the meat they used for their burgers at 3B, including buffalo meat, and I asked if she had ever tried buffalo mozzarella. "How is that possible? Aren't all buffalo men?" she asked, absolutely serious. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt; I had to lay my head on the bar I was laughing so hard. When I recovered my composure, I said, "No, how in the world do you think buffalo make more buffalo?" "Bulls," the Snowy One explained. "I meant to say Bulls."
Prior to that, as Snowy and I were sitting at the bar, discussing fantasy football draft scheduling, two 20-something stunners wearing promotional sexy outfits, entered the bar by way of the back door. Hot would have been an understatement. I paused in mid-sentence when they strolled in, my eyes drawn to them immediately. After a moment, when I had made sure my mouth wasn't hanging open, I returned my attention to my companion. "They can't hold a candle to you." She rewarded me with a stony gaze. "I would never, ever do that." I knew that.
The day manager at the restaurant was rebuking someone as Snowy took her place behind the bar. The discussion had to do with arranging items properly in the bar. "That's not even close to the level of the Queen of ODC," she said, indicating Snowy B. I let a beat pass, and exchanging a knowing glance with the Snowy One, said, "Well, it's pretty evident that you don't suffer from OCD," I finally said. "Whatever," was the response, but Snowy turned to me when we were alone. "I was waiting for you to pick up on that." Did she ever doubt me, I wondered.