The tale is simple: The Yard Man and I ate with friends at a restaurant serving Burmese and Thai food. Our host (the restaurant owner) is Burmese and was very friendly and happy to see us. His wife, he explained, is the chef. The food was out-of-this-world (or, at the very least, out-of-this-country!)
Win (the owner, phonetic spelling only) very handily packaged up all the leftovers from the generous meals he served us, and encouraged us vigorously to come back another time! (We just as enthusiastically vowed that we would!)
In the evening, at our usual concert-in-the-park event, The Yard Man and I enjoyed Cuban music!
When The Yard Man walked down to the stage and observed for a while, he was impressed with the action. "It's a completely different experience down there than it is way back here!" he told me, when he'd returned to our lawn chairs.
So, naturally, I determined that I would have a completely different experience myself. I decided, however, to delay the experience until the sun went down. I wanted to fling my body around any old way I pleased (under cover of darkness. [If you, Dear One, are less inhibited than I, you may give yourself a good old pat on your back*! ])
*That's right, an enthusiastically hearty thump, square in the middle
of your back, please.
It was a warm evening, and it was clear the musicians were giving their all to the performance!
Habia variedad en el spoken (sung)
word, as well, Listener Dear.
It was all delightfully picante!