Karaoke
Part 3 of a series
We had to do it. Not just because we were in the home of karaoke, but because PD made us. She, it turned out, is a bit of a karaoke addict. I think it’s fair to say that GS and I were a bit dubious about the whole thing to start with, though we were encouraged to hear that you get your own private—-and more importantly, soundproof—-booth. At least we would only make idiots of ourselves in front of each other, and we do that all the time anyway.
After a somewhat later than planned dinner, and a quantity of beer, we headed off. PD told us that you can take your own drinks and snacks into the karaoke places, so—-to guard against the danger of being insufficiently inebriated—-we bought some more beer and a pack of Pocky (the slim and elegant Japanese cousin of the chocolate finger) in a convenience store. At that point, we couldn’t put it off any longer—-even by laughing hysterically and taking photographs of a chocolate bar called Horn—-so we took the plunge and hired a booth for an hour.
