Fast-forward 20 minutes and out comes the restaurant staff with the big’ol sombraro ordeal and a shot of tequila, singing “Happy Birthday” (in English). Mark darts me a wide-eyed look and exploded with, “I swear I didn’t tell him.” And he hadn’t. And I sure hadn’t told him. Mystery. Wait, no. No mystery…it was the eavesdropping gentlemen who’d left 20 minutes prior.
After the shot and some pondering of the situation, I declared the mystery man to be the Garth Brooks. Who resides in Owasso, Oklahoma (where we live). Yep, it must have been Garth Brooks. While I’m a fan of his music and country music in general, I’m no guru. I may not even be able to pick-out Garth from any other gun-rack-in-the-truck-laden cowboy in town. Though I will say, the supposed Trisha Yearwood was wearing a scrunchy which is just shameful, especially for a world-renouned country music star.
Whether it was Garth and Trisha or not, I’m going with it. And after taking that lovely tequila shot (I do love me some tequila), I immediately remembered my scheduled run for the follwing morning…this morning. Oops.
“Oh well, sister. Suck it up”, I thought to myself. But of course, one tequila shot won’t damage this fish’s devoted workout plan. My run is done-and-done. Don’t let tequila be an excuse for your lapse in exercise plans, either!