Now don’t get me wrong, I am not an emotionless vessel of hate (not right now anyway)….I can get upset at films, books, people on the street even. I do find it difficult to get upset when an artist stops drawing something though, even if he does get overzealous with the eraser.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have any Bambi available as we should have ordered it in advance. It left me with visions of phoning up, asking for the Bambi Platter with the reservation and having the guy hang up the phone..and yell “We need more Bambi!”. Whereupon the Chef sighs, gets a gun from the wall and, with an apologetic shrug to his children, walks outside…..fade to his children looking forlorn, tears streaming down their faces as they dry cry the words “why daddy why?”, over and over.
That left us with, basically, serious steak or Pumbaa…. Being the Disney hating real men that we are, we decided that Pumbaa was the choice for us. A delicious bowl of…well it looked like a pot plant I gave to my grandmother a few years ago as a random gift…turned up. Being as it obviously contained no Disney characters that I could discern of, and appeared far too healthy…I passed. Plus, I had chowed down a seriously good muffin (fnarr) provided by KH and MK. I am not sure if it was for me or for H, but I only stopped to consider that halfway through…. ah well.
Many starters were delivered, much old style German beer was brought to the table. Then came the vegatables, spaetzle and … well … warm, soft sugar puffs, sans sugar. I chose to pretty much ignore these things in view of the impending Pumbaa explosion.
Turns out that the rule that TV adds 10 pounds is a lie, either that or Pumbaa has been on a serious diet recently (or eaten too many healthy bugs/grubs, or whatever it was he ate in the Lion King). A positively anorexic Pumbaa was brought to 5…count ’em (I know you won’t) 5 full grown men. Some of these men were considerably more grown than others….ok 1 of these men…ok me…dagnabit.
Still, what there was of it was fantabulous. Cue complaint from one of the other guys regarding the size zero Pumbaa and we get free pudding….Result! I don’t know what it was, but it was nice. Halfway through, it was established that the fruit on the plate were cherries, beyond that I am not so sure.
We then head back to my living room so that H may enjoy a birthday cigar (thank you German smoking laws) and I get home around 01:30 this morning.
The moral of this story? There isn’t one….other than be careful which Disney character you try to eat, there may not be that much of it.
Karma is a bastard