Where: you all know where it is

Getting in: walk in

Prices: mediocre

Food: obvious

Dancing: not quite

Pluses: Dad paid

The Bar Belle got perhaps the most dreaded e-mail last week. “I’ll be in D.C. this Friday,” it said. “Am looking forward to seeing you. We’ll do the town.” The dreaded dad weekend. What was the Belle to do?

Sure enough the next day there he was. With him was his side-kick of 40 years, “Big Red,” a Vietnam war hero and possibly the worst dressed man on the planet. Not that dad looked any better, what with his mismatched 52 XL suit from Warehouse for Men and an out-of-season necktie.

Flanked by these aging hipsters, we entered the urban jungle. Dad was determined to go with the Belle on assignment, but first food had to be found. The plan was simple – take the old man somewhere where no one would ever see him. If possible, another town.

Suddenly the Belle had an epiphany: Friday’s, the safest haven on a Friday night. Get the old man in for a couple of Iron City beers and a burger, keep him from calling anyone a “cheap punk” or a “pencil neck” for a few hours, and I’d be home free! After all what self-respecting GW student would be seen there?

After a short walk, Dad and Big Red were winded, and headed straight for the bar to cool down. We ordered some beers, which were surprisingly cheap and delivered by a GW grad. (The Belle drank away the fear that she too would be putting her GW degree to good work behind a Friday’s bar next year). When 11 o’clock hit, Dad was happy to pay the tab.

All and all it wasn’t such a bad night, and Friday’s was actually a cool place to drink with dad.