In the early 90s, I was a freshman at a college in L.A., and I’d struck up a kind of dating / friendship thing with a very out-of-my-league lady; much my superior in looks, decency, and maturity. It wasn’t destined to last and it didn’t.
I did spend some time at her parents’ house, in the San Diego suburb of Rancho Santa Fe. One weekend — maybe over Thanksgiving? I don’t remember — her grandparents were visiting, too. The grandparents were very rich old Southern types who grumbled over all the troublemakers in labor unions and such.
After dinner, we retired to the veranda / back porch / deck, and Gramps was getting comfortably sloshed on mint…
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