I know I'm going to have my cool card taken away, but I love Lowry. As a girl from the Denver suburbs, I think it's great that kids can grow up in a comfortable, new-urbanist environment without their parents having to deal with I-25 during rush hour in order to support a home in the hinterland. That said, I don't plan to return to any restaurant in Lowry during daylight on a weekend: kids, kids and more kids. On the patio of Salty Rita's one Saturday, only two tables were without children -- mine and one where two slightly sauced housewives talked about how much they were enjoying a respite from their families. They managed to enjoy their cocktails with other kids around, but I found it difficult. And even more unsettling were the outfits on the women hangin' in Lowry. Women should not wear sweatsuits with the word "Juicy" on the ass if they shop in anything but the petite department (and that rules me out, too). And about the gal wearing a pink sweatshirt, pink leggings and pink Crocs -- did I miss the memo that said that dressing like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol is now acceptable? To help blind me to the sight, I ordered the Grand Mal Margarita ($6.50) suggested by my wonderful waitress, "D," whose tattooed arm sleeves were a welcome relief from the look of the Lowry ladies. Made of Don Julio Silver Tequila and a splash of Grand Marnier and served in a martini glass, the margarita was basically a big shot of tequila, and exactly what I needed. New urbanism. I'll drink to that.
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