Last night, Marvin and I joined some friends out in the country, at this restaurant/goat milk farm.
It's fancy there. You get a tour of the farm, then you go into this big dining room and they serve you a five-course meal, and you don't get to order. You just have to eat what they serve you. Kind of like my childhood dinners. Without the five-course part. Also, we had no goats.
Guess who was there seven minutes before she announced she wanted a goat? They are so NICE!
Anyway, the tour of the farm started at 6:00, but I get out of work at 5:30, then I had to scream on over to the country, so I was a little late.
Turned out? That was good.
The guy who runs the farm was telling us a little about goats when I got there, and when I say "a little," I mean 4929485292048 hours of goat talk. Honest engine. We stood there in front of those goats, and I was in heels cause I'm an idiot and also Ava Gabor out in the country, and could he have droned on for longer?
Some people have no filter. I was acutely aware of people looking away, glancing longingly at the chickens or the dining room or the coffee urn on the front porch, and yet? More goat talk.
"Goats that have one ear up and one ear down are known as the Glooopulala breed. Goats with both ears down are Whoo-dee-hooo-hooo goats. The Whoo-dee-hoo-hooo goat was first discovered in 1270, and I will discuss each year since then, and relate it all to goats. Oh, someone catch that old lady who just fainted from hunger."
I also had time to admire the shoes of the woman standing in front of me. Yes, I know they are metallic silver shoes and I own 740 pairs of silver shoes. Shut up. I will tell you more about goats if you don't shut up.
Then we mosied over to the chickens, where he actually said, "Chickens scratch in the dirt to express their chicken-ness."
This was about the time I charged him with a pitch fork and went to jail.
Then we ate. Really? So soon? What a brief, unwordy tour of the farm!
I told Marvin I wanted to buy a farm, but not in the way that you die. Like, really buy a farm. But the thing is, I think farms are hard work. Mostly I just want to kiss goats all day and have as many cats as I want because hey! It's a farm!
Here is the world's worst picture of our first course, various goat cheeses made from the goaties right there. I mean, the goats don't have to make cheese with their little hoofs. You know what I mean.
And guess what. GUESS WHAT? That silent, man-of-few-words farmer TALKED US THROUGH the cheese course! If he had talked through the whole meal, I'd have burst into flames.
Fortunately, he sat at one of the tables. You should have seen us. "Is he gonna come to every table? Is he punishing those people over there for not paying their bill?"
It reminded Marvin and me of the time we were at a B&B in Haight-Ashbury, in San Francisco. At breakfast, this woman sat down at the table next to us and said, "Hi, I'm Sun. I'm the Peace Outreach Coordinator here." You have never seen two people dine and dash quicker than Marvin and me.
Peace Outreach Coordinator. Oh, shut up.
Okay, it was beef, with sweet potatoes, pears and squash or something.
After we were done eating, our friend S said, "Okay, now I can show you our dining companion." She had kept mum, so to speak, about the caterpillar in our floral arrangement. Stupid organic gardening. Allowing bugs to live.
Okay, I'm KIDDING. I'm just getting your goat. No one needs to send an earnest comment. Will come spray you with DDT if you do.
In all, it was a swell evening. When we all came outside, there were 7035821045832810148 stars visible, and all I wanted to do was stand there like an idiot and look at them, but it was freezing out.
Plus, I had to get home and write my dissertation about goats.
P.S. Who is being the farmer right now? Who can't shut up? But I wanted to tell you that goat milk is good for you, and also that Niki is comment of the week. Also, male goats are called bucks. And females are does. It takes a lot of doe to make a buck. BAH!
Okay, am done.