Ode to Thomas Street
There’s a stretch of pavement called Thomas Street a few blocks from my apartment. Three restaurants/bars populate it, along with an overpriced boutique and a common market that attracts anything but. It was today during my walk in the snow, a welcome regression back to my Ohio childhood, that I realized how much history one little street can hold. The culmination of my dating history can be highlighted on that street. At the Penguin is where I met my first boyfriend in a drunken haze and thought that making out in the parking lot was foundation enough for a relationship to start from. It wasn’t. At Thomas Street Tavern, for a celebratory beer with law school softball team, cooling off on a June evening, I spotted a former neighbor of mine, who very well may have been a boyfriend all the time I devoted to him. I’m not sure if it was the Bud Light or his presence, but I wanted to projectile vomit then and there. It was also at this Thomas Street Tavern, a few months later, where I was picked up by a guy who told me that I had the cutest nose ever. At the end of the evening, he asked for my #, but since I didn’t dish out my digits to guys, I politely offered to take his, which he withheld, leading me to believe that he had a wife and kids waiting for him at home. And finally, Dish, a dive featuring homemade delicacies, as site for a blind date orchestrated by a few well-meaning friends. No doubt Thomas Street has redeemed itself. I’ve been with my blind date for several months now and to reminisce we frequent the “scene of the crime” once a month.
A lot can happen on one avenue of pavement. Mr. Thomas, wherever and whoever you are, I’d like to thank you. If it wasn’t for you, I may never have had the pleasure of such entertaining company.
