After stopping at Tara's sister Stephanie's house in Smyrna to pick up a newly-refurbished Kindle Fire that Todd had put together, we had dinner at a nearby Mexican restaurant, Mi Tierra. Elizabeth was “dying for refried beans!” Whatever. She's eight.
Mi Tierra is usually good, as it was tonight. What was different this time were its patrons. We sat eating our Burrito Loco, vegetarian fajitas, and enchilada with rice and beans, as what looked like a band of pirates came into the restaurant, six or eight at a time. They kept coming until there were about 50 of them, men and women, some with strangely-painted faces. I decided they weren't pirates — at least not all of them — but were in fact Renaissance festival participants. Never mind that the local Renaissance Festival was two months ago.
They were all young and white, except one black guy dressed as a sheep. Hell if I know. They were weird, but harmless. I told Tara, “I'm from California so none of this fazes me.” Elizabeth didn't understand, so Tara happily explained how California is known for its weirdness. Still, if we'd known these people from the wrong century would be surrounding us, we would have sat outside as Elizabeth originally wanted to do.
We left before the inevitable “grog” drinking and Old-English-speaking began.