The boy, the husband and I are sitting at the table having bagels and coffee on a Sunday morning. The husband is going through Open Table and finding a dinner spot for when we are in DC for our nephew’s wedding.
Husband: Here’s a good one — Tap House. It looks like it has something for everyone.
Me: You mean plain things for boring eaters like me.
Son: Tap House – why do they call it that?
Me and the husband: Beer on tap.
Son: OH! I thought it was like a tap dancing place.
Me: (feeling hyper from the coffee and getting up from the table) HI! Welcome to Tap House. Follow me to your table. (fake tap dancing and walking out of the kitchen)
Son: (laughing) YES!! Oh my God! Let that be real!! There needs to be a place like this.
Me: (Still fake tapping) What can I get you guys to drink?
Son: Yes! See, you’re making it kind of a cheesy, campy place, which is great. I pictured it as a really exclusive place. You know, it would be really classy and there would be a pianist playing on a stage and then a really serious tap dancer.
Husband: You guys are scaring me.
Me: Either way, the shifts would have to be short there. Their feet would hurt. What if someone called in sick and your four-hour shift became eight hours.
Son: That’s why they would have understudies. If someone called in sick, the understudy would work. I can just see him backstage calling his mom. “Mom! It’s finally my time to shine!”
Son: So, what would we call it?
Me: Tap House!
Son: Ok. I was thinking we’d call it I’d Tap That.