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July 14, 2001: Plotting

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We went out for Indian food Friday night. We both love salmon tandori, and so we get one order, with extra onions, and split it with extra naan, fresh from the oven. They pile on the onions, cooked til they're translucent and oh-so-sweet. Whatever they marinate the salmon in turns it a bold yellow color, and it flakes easily with a fork so that we can wrap slivers of salmon with sweet onions into the bread, and take bites, juice oozing onto the plate.

We always finish the meal with some sort of cheese ball thing in honey. I can never remember the name, and even though he and I have tried our best to commit it to memory, we usually end up stuttering 'golab ja...something.', and they nod, amused, and bring it out to us anyway. They recognize us there now, most of the time, and don't even ask how spicy we want our tandori anymore. There are times when we go twice in one week, sometimes one night after the other. I suppose that at some point we'll tire of it, but there seems to be no danger of that any time soon.

We went for tandori last night because I was craving it, and even though Richard *thought* we were going to go with friends tonight as well, I knew better. Between the two of us, his best man and I concocted an elaborate scheme for how I would get him to his bachelor party. I had some idea of what was planned, but frankly, that wasn't my concern. No, my job was simply to get him there without him knowing. In fact, when the whole idea of a bachelor party has come up, I've been deliberately vague about the whole thing, assuring Richard that his best man was most likely going to do *something*, and next Friday night after the rehearsal seemed to be the most opportune time since Richard's spending the night there anyway.

Problem was, it was at a friend's house, and there was no reason at all we would be going there.

So...I came up with the dinner story so he'd not try to plan anything else that night, getting those friends into the plot so they'd not inadvertently blow it when it came up in conversation. Then I mumbled out a rather vague story of the party hostess needing to borrow some of my garb pieces for the costume she intends to wear at our wedding, and we were off. I was laughing as I pulled away, waving to his best man through the window as I drove off.

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