My "Virgil Vigil" was in vain

"When did you say he was arriving?" I asked, staring anxiously at the calendar as I held my own "Virgil Vigil" count-down. "I didn't," my husband replied, trying to reassure me by quoting our favorite singer/songwriter, the late, great Patrick Swayze, "You know he's like the wind." I stomped around my kitchen. Over three months of social isolation had left me desperate for company. "His plane arrived four days ago," I whined, re-checking his schedule. Brad then resorted to quoting the only literary man who could calm me:  C.S. Lewis. Speaking in the words of the character, Tirian, Brad said, "Who am I that I could make my brother appear at my bidding? He's not a tame lion."

Tame? Or timely? Or toe-nail-y? Okay...sorry. Got carried away with my penchant for alliterating. It was actually an infected thumbnail situation...if we want to stick with the lion theme, we could envision Androcles...that kept my brother-in-law more than an arm's distance away from us. That...and l'amore. It had been a long time since Virgil had been reunited with his lady love.

But finally...he (and his over-sized, swollen, infected thumb) arrived! I was so happy! But, of course, my vision of the perfect visit would be shattered...again and again. I had been biding my time, waiting for Virgil to visit so that we could indulge in a box of take-out margaritas. I called the restaurant to get the details of this transaction. Oh. We HAD to buy a food item too? Like a prosecuting attorney confronting a witness, I questioned the girl on the phone. "What is the cheapest selection on your menu? Did you check the sides? Did you consider the children's menu? What do you mean I can't pair a child's meal with alcohol? Isn't this still America?" I finally placed my order and provided a description of my truck for the transaction.

Brad drove, doubtful regarding the success of this mission. Virgil and I, however, were positively giddy, picturing our box of booze with its handy spout. We pulled into our numbered parking space and I placed the call, alerting the restaurant to our arrival. "Oh, I'm sure they're all waiting to meet you," my husband muttered as I suddenly panicked and told the staff that I WASN'T driving a black Titan but was, in fact, in a white cargo van. Brad and Virgil, who were currently sitting IN a black Titan, looked around, confused. "Let's just add alcohol to this situation," Brad said as I hurriedly straightened out my error. "They're going to breathalyze her before they let her have liquor," his brother predicted. Brad tried to repress his laughter as the servers brought out our order, handing us two styrofoam glasses and a brown paper bag-wrapped bottle of El Toro tequila. A seasoned bartender, my brother-in-law politely tried to refrain from curling his lip in disgust. I was too shocked to speak...a rare occurrence for which my husband was deeply grateful.

So, deeply disappointed, we drove home. We unpacked wings and calzones from our favorite place

and then faced the farce that was supposed to be our beloved box of margaritas. Using a deep voice and affecting an accent to resemble a matador, Virgil wielded the bottle like a red flag, yelling, El Toro! enthusiastically about the house. Both brothers broke into unrestrained laughter when, in sad confusion, I pulled a tiny lime out of the bag. "Fancy!" they shouted. They were even more delighted to learn that the restaurant had provided TWO limes! "It's too much to ask!"

So we drowned our sorrows in silence. Apparently I kept missing the meaningful glances being exchanged by the Brothers Grimm until Brad, as gently as possible, asked what type of calzone I had ordered them. "Chicken," I said, resolutely. "There just seems to be more broccoli in it than I remembered," Brad said carefully, have been the recipient of my countless melt-downs over the past few months. Virgil, blissfully unaware and bereaved by a besiegement of broccoli, had no such qualms. "Hey! I like vegetables as much as the next guy but I swear they included an entire head of broccoli in this calzone!"

My head swam with disappointment, embarrassment, and cheap tequila. I had wanted, so much, to provide a fun and entertaining visit for my brother-in-law and, instead, it was a disaster. I was devastated. It didn't get much better the next morning when my two jokesters were getting ready for breakfast. "Hey Virgil, what kind of coffee does a matador like?" he asked. "Cafe olé!"