Okay, so the title of this post is a lyric to a Reba McEntire song that my mother used to play all the time when I was a kid, and it pops into my head every time I think about anything “fancy.”
And fancy is what I felt last night when a friend invited me to have a drink at the sort of place that forbids jeans and sneakers—the sort of place that’s “jacket required” for men, preferably with a tie.
Normally, I’m all about going to the dive-iest bar in the neighborhood and ordering cheap liquor, but it’s sometimes nice to remember that we can also experience nice places and things without having to spend a lot of money.
You can get dressed up, go to a nice place and order one nice, strong cocktail (around $15) and enjoy it for the evening. More often than not, the nice place will have a quiet corner for you to sit in so you can have a conversation with whomever you’re with without have to raise your voice over loud music or crowds.
The staff at the nice place will get to know your name and call you Mr. or Ms followed by your last name. At the nice place I was at last night, I heard the staff address a distinguished-looking man as Mr. Merrill, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was that Mr. Merrill and hope that I would overhear some sort of insider financial gossip I could blog about later. Instead, we had our nice cocktail, in our nice, quiet corner, had our nice conversation, and then left after an hour—thinking about what a lovely time we had, and feeling just a tiny bit fancy.