Pals | Sober and Unashamed

My freshman year in college I was assigned to a dorm floor that also housed two Indiana University offensive lineman. On Sundays, the dorm cafeteria was closed, and the three of us often went to the all-you-can-eat buffet at Ryan’s Steakhouse. My two football friends would eat for hours. I could not keep up. I would eat a hearty, gluttonous lunch, study for a couple of hours at our table, then reload and force down an early dinner. Two big meals for the price of one. It was not close to the most unhealthy habit I developed during my first year in college, and it was friendly to my quite limited budget.

This past Sunday was the first time since 1992 that I sat in a restaurant long enough to eat a meal and get hungry again.

I met a friend for lunch — just the two of us in a crowded bar and grill with football on all the screens and logs ablaze in the faux-stone fireplace. Mike is the kind of friend I can fall out of touch with, then reunite and be instantly connected to without missing a beat. No awkward small talk. No searching for the appropriate wording. Mike likes to go commando (something I found out the hard way when I barged into his hotel room in Miami years ago), so I often start the conversation with a query about underwear. He confirms my suspicion, and the conversation is off and rolling.