An outbreak of maturity

Out here in my neighborhood (more or less), according to the flashing arrow sign outside the everyone-knows-they’ll-move-when-the-new-Walmart-goes-in-except-somehow-they-never-did-and-here-we-are “gentlemen’s lounge” Jimmy’s, they are now serving wings.

You might have noticed I really like wings. You might have noticed I review wings, with some rigor. And, in the car yesterday after church, my older son and I enjoyed the tremendous humor potential in my doing a review of Jimmy’s wings. I think it would be funniest if I did it absolutely straight, without acknowledging the nature of the establishment.

But I won’t. For one, the girly bar was never really my thing, even back in another era when I regularly read Playboy. I’ve only ever been to one in my life, and that was for a friend’s bachelor party. Mostly I remember tipping one of the dancers well so she’d sit and have a drink, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but then I thought she stayed way too long. Heh.

More importantly, it’s just not something I need to do, even for a lark. I’m not in the habit of taking BoWilliams.com posts down, having done it only once in more than 12 years. So there would be a continuous risk of someone happening upon it and saying “hey, isn’t that the guy who ran the basketball at Good Shepherd?” or “how does he resolve that with human trafficking activism?”

No matter how nuanced or clever the piece, the optics would be poor.

So, alas, I will leave Jimmy’s wings unreviewed.

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