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Carefulthat homely girl you mocked at dinner could really be a studly rock n rollerBy Lindsay FerrierPublished on October 07, 2009 at 1:45pmEver since my husband and I met nine years ago, we've played a little game we like to call "What's the Occasion?"It's a people-watching game. "What's the Occasion?" I'll murmur to Hubs, nodding at the table beside ours, where a gaggle of deferential music executives hangs on every word uttered by three teenagers sitting before them. "What's the Occasion?" Hubs will snicker as we watch four drunken country club types attempt to board a boat at Blue Moon Lagoon. There are also variations of the game, like "Is It a Paid Occasion?" I like to play this one at Bound'ry, where grandfatherly gentlemen are often joined at the bar by impossibly young blondes in skintight mini dresses. And then there's "What's the Occasion This Time?," which we play whenever we see eye doctor/ballroom dancer Ming Wang out on the town, or country clothier Manuel. Let me tell you, those guys get around. With nearly a decade of practice under my belt, I like to think I've gotten pretty good at the game. But occasionally, I'm still thrown for a loop. Take last week, at The Patterson House. "Hey, check out the nerd herd over there," I said to Hubs over drinks at the bar. "What's the Occasion?" Hubs looked up from his Manhattan and followed my gaze to a corner of the room, where 10 men stood in a self-consciously convivial throng, nearly identical in outdated button-down shirts and ties. "Where do you think they're from?" I asked Hubs. "The Lockeland Springs chapter of The Orchid Society? The National Federation of Calligraphers?" "I don't know," Hubs mused. "But they're acting pretty important." "Who says calligraphers aren't important?" I asked. He was right, though. They were downing their Cooper's Brights and smirking at each other as if they owned the place. "The strangest part is that woman standing in the middle," I said, leaning in toward Hubs confidentially. "I mean, logic would dictate that dyeing your hair black, parting it down the middle and wearing clunky glasses isn't the smartest way to land a man. And yet, there they are, fawning all over her." "That's not a her," Hubs said. "That's a him."I looked closely. "Oh, Hubs," I scoffed. "I think I know a woman when I see one." "She's a he," Hubs insisted. I frowned, unconvinced. We watched them for a little while longer before Hubs slapped his hands down on the bar. "I've gotta ask," he said. I pursed my lips with disapproval. Actually asking about the occasion was a cardinal sin. We had tried it before with disappointing results. The group we'd identified as Soviet spies turned out to be Chilean businessmen in town for a meeting. The couple we'd pegged as swingers were actually Jehovah's Witnesses. Still, I had to admit I was just as curious as Hubs to learn the identity of The Patterson House's resident geek squad. "Who are those guys?" Hubs said to our bartender the next time he stopped by. The bartender looked at Hubs like he'd asked who was president. "The Raconteurs," he answered. Hubs laughed a little too loud. "See?" he asked me, as if he'd known all along. I rolled my eyes. "The Raconteurs," Hubs mused with the air of a Rolling Stone writer. "Of course." He raised his eyebrows at the bartender. "In fact, this seems to be the kind of place a man like Jack White would enjoy. Am I right?" "Well," the bartender said slowly. "I mean, yeah. The Raconteurs are his band."I snorted. "Duh," I said to Hubs. He glared at me. Though embarrassing, this most recent bout of "What's the Occasion" did give us us a new variation, one that's perfect for anyone out and about in Nashville: "Are You Famous or Just Weird Looking?" You've probably played it before without realizing it. Is that one of the Oak Ridge Boys or an off-season mall Santa? Kid Rock or an East Nashville crack addict? Nicole Kidman? Or... Nicole Kidman? What's the Occasion? You may think it's silly now, but I'm guessing you'll thank me for this idea the next time you're stuck in line at the DMV. And, um, my apologies to The Raconteurs. Especially the one with the long black hair. It's a fabulous look. Really.
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