Lunch with my parents at their usual posh country restaurant. Good food, but there's always at least one set of customers who make me want to break out the Molotovs.
(On the plus side, I got to watch my mother - who's a serious fungus geek of the "owns a microscope and hopes to identify a new species" variety - terrify the restaurant staff with questions about which species they meant by "hen of the woods" on the menu.)
(On the plus side, I got to watch my mother - who's a serious fungus geek of the "owns a microscope and hopes to identify a new species" variety - terrify the restaurant staff with questions about which species they meant by "hen of the woods" on the menu.)