Birthday Extravaganza Part 2

(This is my ever so casual going out for drinks outfit....I was in black heels though)

We headed off to The Flintknappers, a pub in Brandon.  Always a good time on the weekends since they have Strongbow and dancing.  Lots of dancing.  So off we go to dance and have a good time.  I'm still slightly tipsy from the champagne and Strongbow from earlier, so it isn't going to be too expensive to drink ( I think we shared 2 pints....we like to share because that means only one of us has to hold the drink while dancing).  When we first get in though, I am quickly touched inappropriately, as a drunk man decides to smile at me and then touch my stomach.  Yes, my stomach.  Then he smiles.  At first I think, oh no, once again someone thinks I am expecting, but then I realize nope, can't be it, I've got a pretty flat stomach.  Then he leans in and slurs something I don't understand, I smile confusedly and he touches my stomach again!  At this point I decide it's time to move to the other end of the bar because Garret was gearing up to beat his ass down, and he was sober and usually passive.  

Then onto the dancing.  And do we ever dance!  It's my freakin' birthday, so I don't care if I look a fool (for which I thank God I do not....I am actually a damn good dancer, which tends to draw attention from other men), and the music is pretty great.  The pub closes a bit early, with plenty of time to finish off my birthday night in style.....by downing a 1/4 lb of yummy cheeseburger-with-grilled-onions goodness.  So we go to our new favorite roadside stop, order, and are standing waiting for our food to cook.  There are 2 guys behind us, and I glance back and smile like people tend to when it's nearly 2 a.m. and you're getting greasy hamburgers.  

Suddenly, I went from chatting with Garret to seeing a fight break out, including someone swinging the metal chairs that the lady sets up outside.  They get close enough that a couple feet from us, this car is used as a weapon and someone's head is knocked into it hard enough to dent it.  All this time G is trying to move me back while putting his arms out and blocking me from view.  I'm shaking, thinking "I cannot freakin' die on my birthday!" (which technically it was the next morning, but still).  The woman who runs the place comes out shouting at these 2 guys who had been behind us to get the hell out of there before she calls the cops.  And it's only after the fact that I find out exactly how bad it could have gotten.

Turns out it was all over a cigarette.  These Brits (who we spent a bit of time talking to afterwards) had been sitting there chatting and waiting for food when one of the guys who was quite built (and who we believe is Polish, but I swear I know other Polish people who are plenty sane, so never fear) walks over and asks for a cigarette.  One guy says no (he was rolling his own, so it would have been ridiculous to roll it for someone else) and the other guy says sure, but wait a sec I'm getting my food.  The foreign guy walks back to his car, the Brits think nothing of it because usually over here is you bum a ciggy you give some change for it.  The guy comes back with a wrench that was seriously 2 freaking feet long!!!  He swings it at one of the Brits (mind you there are ladies there just drinking some tea) and that's when the fight broke out.  One of the Brits gets his finger and face busted up a bit, but he's ok, and he's pretty sure that he broke a couple of the guys ribs swinging the chair full force.  And the best part?  The idiot left the wrench!  One guy talked about either selling it or mounting it to tell stories to the grandkids.  

Overall it's funny now, but I wish we had known what was going on.  The best thing to do, in my opinion, would have been to throw his ass in a trunk, drive off a bit and dump him in a ditch naked.  But I tend to be a bit bitchy like that.  

So there you have it, my exciting birthday celebration.  And for the record, the cheeseburger and chips tasted even better after the near death experience (and I'm not even mentioning my husband's driving!).