Temperatures across America have broken 69 degrees, so for an unforgivable portion of the population that means suggesting at any and every opportunity to dine outdoors. That’s fine, just don’t ask me to join you.
It’s truly the eighth World Wonder that eating outside remains a thing that some people claim to enjoy. Man mastered human comfort with indoor climate control, tables, chairs, and disinfectants. Yet there persists a group of men and women (mostly women, honestly) who see romance in consuming meals while perspiring in the heat, shielding their vision from the sun and playing a chess-like game with the utensils and napkins to manage an irksome breeze.
Fascinating. Have a good time, sweaty. I’ll be inside where I can relax without swatting away winged intruders, moving items on the table around to keep things from blowing away, and using my hand to manufacture shade so I can see.
While running one recent late morning along the Potomac waterfront, I witnessed a shocking display— a fine couple seated with platters of myriad finger foods. It was nearly 80 degrees, with several fashionable restaurants nearby, but the pair chose to sit on the ground. To accommodate themselves, if you can describe it that way, they brought a blanket and tableware, but they had no seats, their poor backs surely aching as furiously as their brows were beading.
I averted my gaze out of fear of having a panic attack. There’s no convincing me they were having a good time.
One
