Burger Comes Home

The Thanksgiving holiday always provides some much needed time away from work in order to reconnect with family and to enjoy far too much food and drink. GRB and I get along very well when it comes to this. I usually arrive on the Tuesday night flight from Nashville at around midnight, wrestle with the two puppies for an hour, and then head to bed. Upon waking up, I head over to Ellen's place to find out what the whole crew is up to. Chuck is usually hanging with Grandma, Bird and Rie are upstairs checking their hair, and GRB is usually at the kitchen counter with a cold one - ready to rock. He is always in need of a drinking buddy, and I gladly oblige. GRB is a guy's guy. He loves anything to do with football, the Wildcats, the Jesuits, Making America Great Again, Dortmunders, and burgers. The apple does not fall very far from the tree, however. Ever since I could stomach a solid meal, my clear favorite has been the burger - so much so that it was my first word. This taste-treat sensation is now how GRB recognizes me. He no longer knows me as "Billy", but as "Burger". Although the nickname isn't so hot with the ladies, it suits our relationship perfectly. After about three of four Dortmunders, a half of a burger, and some muddled conversation about how the Cats are lookin this year, GRB is usually ready for a walk and/or a nap. At this point, I'll usually head back over to the parents' house and get started with my day (3 beers isn't how I usually start my day). I always make sure to get enough rest that night, because i know that he'll be waiting there the next morning with a glass in one hand and a burger in the other. 

 

Bill