When: 4:40pm, Friday
I ended up at The Churchill after drinking an expensive cocktail at Marta after discovering they no longer have a happy hour (I also discovered the cocktail wasn’t as expensive as it initially appeared as the restaurant is one of Danny Meyer’s latest to go tip inclusive). I wanted a beer no-fuss. At this hour, at least, it was very neighborhood-y, solidly middle-aged-plus.
I couldn’t help but butt into the conversation happening on my left after hearing “At my age, age-appropriate women don’t go out alone to bars.”
Then doubly-nosy, “Do you mind me asking how old you are?”
The 72-year-old who’d given up on meeting women in bars also turned out to have two daughters around my age, one 42, with a boyfriend in his early 30s. The more I parsed, the more I liked.
As is often the case, I stayed longer than intended and started discussing my long distance relationship with strangers who never ever think it’s a good idea and then I relay this to the other member of this long distance relationship because I’ve had too much to drink and that’s always an even worse idea. I’ll learn eventually.
Was I carded? No. I don’t think young people would try sneaking in here.
Age appropriate? For sure. Despite my big mouth, it was a fun early evening, and nice to talk to British couples in their 50s who come across as sensible just because they have an accent even if they might also be drunk