Doesn't that require a prescription?

It goes without mention that Santa Barbara was a lot of fun. The weather tried to stick it to us but we persisted and wandered around dressed in everything we had packed on one day, roasted on another and then had a mild case of windburn thrown into the mix just for kicks. It remains one of my favorite places to visit for a long weekend not only because it's lovely but because some of my favorite people live there. Also, the boys seem to be prettier in that zip code. So, you know, it gives you something to look at besides the blue blue sea.

We happened to eat monstrously well all weekend. It was a bit ridiculous, in fact, how much we ate. I'm used to that kind of gastronomical exercise when I'm vacationing with my family, but I had neglected to pack my Official Eating Pants™ and so I spent many hours trying to hitch my waistband into a comfortable position. Score: Waistband-3, Jen-0.

Sabeen and Steve were celebrating their four year wedding anniversary and decided that a nice dinner was in order. Why they invited us fools along, I'll never understand, but we put on our Fancy Manners which means I promised not to swear during dinner and Marc would do his best to chew with his mouth closed. We nearly succeeded.

We were seated and given our menus without any mishaps. Our waiter, however, took quite a shining to Marc. Marc is, if nothing else, pretty. Men of a certain predisposition tend to be quite fond of him, if you catch my drift. I think it's his curiously round ass. He thinks it's his sparkling personality. Potato, poTAHto. Anyhoo, our waiter certainly found him charming and paid him every attention, fluttering over him and practically rubbing his neck at one point. I don't think Marc really noticed as he was greatly absorbed in the mammoth wine list. Because, you know, ALCOHOL.

But before we imbibed in the grape, Marc and Sabeen decided to have a cocktail. Sabeen ordered a Sidecar and Marc turned to our blushing waiter and said with complete sincerity, "I'll have a Lemon Drop please." Seriously. He was not helping himself AT ALL. I think our waiter had a teeny tiny orgasm. He clapped his hands with glee and said, "OH! That is my FAVORITE drink TOO!" He had found his soul mate, clearly. I think it was then that Marc realized the effect that he was having on the waiter as his eyes sort of bugged out and I thought he was going to yell, "I LIKE VAGINA! NOT PENIS!" but he resisted (Fancy Manners, you know) and instead climbed into my lap and stuck his tongue down my throat. It's cool. We have a license that says we can do that.

The rest of dinner went by without too much drama. Marc would grab at me each time the waiter came near which made eating difficult, but I didn't need the calories at that point. And then came dessert. Why we decided to even look at the menu is quite beyond me. But we did. And there it was, the first thing all of us saw:

DRY SACK

Now, we were all rather nonplussed by why a reference to testicles would be on the dessert menu. It stood to reason that it was some sort of after dinner drink, but really? Dry Sack? Did the sherry maker have his hands down his pants when they were naming the thing and thought, "God...my sack could really use some balm...let's try this liquid and see what happens!" And Voila! Dry sack begone! It just conjures up images of things that you don't want to think about after eating. We begged, BEGGED Marc to ask the waiter what it was knowing it would make his night (and ours). Maturity for the win! Marc refused, which was really too bad. I think it would have made a nice anniversary gift for Sabeen and Steve. Spoilsport.