So, we're all hanging out in a bar on the near East Village, on E. 5th Street, celebrating the move of a very close friend to London. We reserved a corner of the bar on a Sunday afternoon thinking that we would beat the crowds and have the exclusive attention of the bartender.

We all filed in around 4ish, our surprised friend around 4:30, and we dealt drinks, passed around salt water taffy and hugged, kissed, talked and had a great time. Very understated, very much your normal gathering of friends.

Well, so happens that another group of like-minded, like-aged (maybe a touch older) folks had a similar idea for a celebration during the afternoon delight hours. They started pouring in in droves carrying balloons, cupcakes and little fuzzy presents. A birthday party? Cool, it'll be like Chuck E. Cheeses or something. Except, where are all the kids? I see little white dog, but no kids.

Then I saw the T-shirt, "I'm Nuts for Mutts." Then the singing started, "Happy Birthday dear Sam-O." Sam-O? They're all looking at Sam-O, the little white dog, as his "nuts mom" started feeding him a cup cake.

"Very cool," I thought, as I reached for a quarter to turn the vending machine for a handful of bar nuts.

D. Robert -- New York, NY