|"A restaurant? Surely, you jest. Those went extinct about the same time I stopped wearing pants that button."|
I hope everyone had a fantastic weekend. I won't keep you in suspense. I had a fantastic weekend as well. I tasted the forbidden fruit of unbridled freedom and it was intoxicating. Husband graciously accepted the paper-wrapped rock I threw through his windshield, explaining that I was leaving for the evening, and out I went with just the ladies in my family. For anyone else who hasn't eaten dinner out since we all tried the gaucho pant thing that didn't work out, I've whipped up a quick guide to minimize awkwardness if an invitation to shower and socialize arises.
1.) Arrival Time
I like to make sure I'm early. For instance, after doing my makeup by the light of the parking garage, I made sure I was a good twenty minutes early. Showing up this far in advance made sure that I could find a server who didn't have a problem talking to the side of my face that didn't have eye liner connecting my nose to my ear.
I was able to pick the seat I wanted, wave at strangers I thought were my family, and have time to go over the menu. "Is your lemonade made with real lemons?"
"Can I get the fish in fillet or stick?"
"This water has ice in it, and that makes me uncomfortable. Our ice machine's been broken for ages, and I'd really prefer something warm, from the tap, with unmentionables from the city floating in it."
This wasn't a challenge for me after having time to peruse the establishment's fare, but the waiter had to tell me to go sit down, after I followed him back to the kitchen and asked him if I could eat by the stove, as I was accustomed. This makes me a little angry as I've heard the customer's always right, and I enjoy counting the crumbs that have fallen in the burners while I eat spaghetti with my hands.
This is how I invented the number seventy-threesandth...
"But if I sit on that big sack of flower over there?"
"Even if I remembered to wear underthings?"
3.) The Check
This part I had a hard time understanding, and so did our waiter....
"Your check, Miss."
"What is this, your contact information?"
"No, this is what you owe."
"Excuse me, Sir, but I cook three times a day, and no one ever pays me for it. Now, take your piece of paper and be gone."
"I'm afraid it's not optional."
"I'm afraid, life's tough, and although the pasta was divine, you'll have to con some other shoddy looking mother with only one armpit shaved."
After much haggling, I decided that if he kept insisting that much, he probably needed the money for college or tattoo school, so I gave him my credit card. After all, it was nice to get out on my own, have dinner in peace, and not have to share my fork with anyone. I just hope that silly man used my money for a good cause.
Until Next Time, Readers!