There was a magic bathroom mirrorin our bedroom at Caribou Highlands. Every time I looked in the magic bathroom mirror, I looked like a million bucks.
By stark contrast, in the bathroommirrorat the condo, I looked like hell no matter what I tried.
I was rather confused by all of this, so I had the brilliant idea after I fixed my hair and make-upand looked at myself a hundred different times with no honest resolution to the problem, that I would attack my husband. We left the condo for the night looking happy, and a little ruffled...in both mirrors.
I'm no slouch, myself, so I engaged the disgruntled patrons during their long wait for drinks with my observations about the bartender who was attempting some "flair" moves in the face of a crowd who was truly not interested. That seemed to lighten them up a bit...and we decided to nickname the bartender, "Barely Flair" because he wasn't all that good at it anyway. At one point, he slammed a martini shaker down in front of me so hard that I almost fell out of my seat. This was after he had done the same thing to some other guy sitting further down the bar, and managed to splash booze all over the place in his zeal. I hope that the guy who's shirt got saturated with vodka was able to negotiate free drinks for the rest of the night--if it were me, I would have gone for that right away.
