My Wife's Birthday Dinner
Last Saturday my wife celebrated her birthday. She and I are pretty laid back about these things and don't make much of a fuss. Still, I wanted it to be a special day for her, so we decorated and bought flowers and cards to have waiting on the kitchen table for her to see when she woke up. After getting dressed, we thought we'd go to a bakery for some donuts. Before we left, there was a knock on the door as a delivery man wearing a Three Stooges shirt waited outside with a flower arrangement for the birthday girl. I signed his clipboard, told him to say "hi" to Shemp, and sent him on his way. I wish that I had actually said that now. In my mind, I can picture him getting mad at that and turning around to say something back to me but he wouldn't be able to, because every time he opened his mouth, I would shoot it full of seltzer. Next, I'd poke him in the eyes, hit him with a pie, and bounce a hammer off of his head as he ran to his van.
So, on to the bakery. We got in line behind a slow moving, portly man who was having an OCD breakdown at the counter. "I want a chocolate caked donut. Oh, you don't have that? Isn't that one way in the back? No? Then I will have a glazed donut, but give me the one with the least amount of glaze. Now give me a coconut long john but make sure it's one from the bottom." I wanted murder him with a day-old loaf of challah bread. As he lost consciousness, he would faintly say, "Did you get that loaf from the bottom?". I ended up not killing him this time. When the cashiers were ringing him up, they told him that the two donuts were different prices. He said, "You guys sure make things difficult". Screw it! Where's that #!*#!* challah bread?!
The rest of the afternoon was uneventful.
My wife's friend was nice enough to make reservations for us at a hip restaurant downtown and we were excited to go. There was a lot of traffic but we made it there by the skin of our teeth. We perused the menu and waited for the server. She arrived and told us that people normally share their dishes and that we should order everything we wanted right now, that way, she could structure our meal for us and build a "flavor profile". "We don't want to serve you anything too harsh at the beginning and blow out your palate,” she said. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the last thing I ate before coming here was a Cheeto. She took our drink order and I watched the life leave her eyes as I ordered a soda pop. Look, I like wine but I am a total lightweight. After one glass, I would drive my car right into the Chicago River. The meal started out wonderfully with a big plate of grilled broccoli, but after that, the entrees became much smaller. The rations...er, portions, were not what we were expecting. Don't get me wrong, they tasted amazing, but we had sort of starved ourselves for the past few hours leading up to this and were craving more. By the way, I love how tapas restaurants, and these types of places, want you to share but give you hilariously small amounts with which to do so. It reminded me of Moe, Larry, and Curly when they are starving and down on their luck, having to divide a single pea into slices. At the end of the meal, we ordered coffee and a dessert that was a legit size and unbelievably delicious.
After we had finished, we watched the valet pinch himself as he got to pull around my Honda Accord. We took the keys, drove home, walked in the door, and I poured myself a big bowl of cereal.
