The Princess and the Pub

Steve is English (not that that really has anything to do with anything, but I thought it made a good preface when discussing pubs).  Once in a while he likes to pop over to the local pub for a few pints and a massacre (of a bunch of suckers) on the pool table.  And while we live within walking distance, Samantha and I will sometimes drive over to pick him up.  It's become a source of extreme entertainment for Samantha, who runs full-out through the bar, screaming, "Daaaaaddddddyyyy!!!" and launches herself into his arms, much to the amusement of the patrons, gawping not so much at the fact that there's a small child in the bar (it's a family-friendly place), but at the novelty of the sweet child with massive lung power who obviously adores her Daddy.  And it's a source of extreme pride for Steve, who just loves these moments when he can show his little girl off to his friends.

When I tell her we're going to pick Daddy up at the pub, her eyes light up, and she says, "Upstairs and downstairs?  Play with the balls?  Sit in the chair?"  In translation, there's a 3-step-up seating area with tables, a pool table, and a big leather chair on a dais, much like a throne.

Saturday evening, after Samantha's bath, with her hair down and wild in the stages of drying, we went over to pick Daddy up.  The two photos below were taken with my cell phone.  Thought you all might like some levity from me before I post about the rather dreary events of Friday evening at the first of Sammi's two preschool graduations...