Kevin leaned over our table and spoke softly, "an anonymous couple has given $20.00 toward your bill this evening and asked me to say how much they enjoyed dining in the same area as you two." We looked at each other and remembered the lemon.
It was Valentine's Day and dinner out was the extent of this year's celebration. My wife had been particularly busy and did not desire deliveries or gifts, but was very open to not having to cook. We went to an Italian place nearby and found they had a 75 minute wait. It dawned on me that the preferred language did not include the phrase, 'over an hour'. Artful articulation adjustment not unlike children that take years to grow out of months. "Oh, he's already 27 months old." uhhhh, back to lemons...
My sweet love noted an empty spot near the bar so we wove a path thither. After I had ordered a glass of wine and attempted to settle into a waiting siege when she observed some people getting up from a nearby table. "Go get that table." she urged in a forced whisper. I grunted a little resistance as I began to move over to the table. I assumed the fullness of the establishment would render all available tables to the wait list. If I hadn't obeyed my wife I would certainly fell prey to the ol' assumption rule. However, Cholocate Day had given me a booster shot of cooperation.
Turns out that the five or six tables near the bar were up for 'dibs'. So the 75 minute wait was reduced to about 5. I love this woman! We ordered some muscles as an appetizer, tasted from a new bottle of wine and enjoyed the day, our company and the grace at which we had overcome an interminable wait. Our generous appetizer arrived sporting a huge hunk of lemon in the center. I noted that it longed to be squeezed upon the surrounding sea creatures. So I gingerly picked up my butter brothed yellow condiment and tried to squeeze. But it was too large and I was holding it too lightly trying to avoid completely baptizing my hand in the warm broth. So I added a digit to the two already assaulting the citrus and put some grunt into my squeeze.
Two things happened nearly simultaneously. The first, barely noticeable, was a couple drops of fresh lemon juice dribbled into the previously seasoned broth. The second, and several eyes noticed this, a giant yellow hockey puck flew from my hand, and shot diagonally across the room landing with a sklishhh, in the center of the dining area.
My first amazement was that the projectile did not hit anyone as it flew through the crowded room. Light laughter lofted from a few nearby tables and I noticed three or four pairs of eyes upon me as I tried to slurp off any evidence of the incident from my butter-guilty fingers.
My lovely wife laughed along with the strangers and said, "you'd have thought it was a hockey puck. We're glad we didn't hurt anyone...heh heh heh". I noted a sense of relief as my dear partner claimed joint custody of the moment. After 35 years, I've experienced several moments in public that she was perfectly willing for me to have individual ownership. It felt good to truly share this slapstick moment together.
Dinner went on wonderfully after that. No spilled wine, no dribbles down the front of my shirt. I did note a glance our way a time or two and thought they might be looking for an encore from the orchard. As we finished our dinner and Kevin delivered the secret message, we just nodded around the room with smiles at any eyes we might connect with.
A really special Valentine Dinner for two, including wine and lavish desert and plenty of left overs... and all for less than if we had fast food at a drive thru, and it all started with a lemon.
It was Valentine's Day and dinner out was the extent of this year's celebration. My wife had been particularly busy and did not desire deliveries or gifts, but was very open to not having to cook. We went to an Italian place nearby and found they had a 75 minute wait. It dawned on me that the preferred language did not include the phrase, 'over an hour'. Artful articulation adjustment not unlike children that take years to grow out of months. "Oh, he's already 27 months old." uhhhh, back to lemons...
My sweet love noted an empty spot near the bar so we wove a path thither. After I had ordered a glass of wine and attempted to settle into a waiting siege when she observed some people getting up from a nearby table. "Go get that table." she urged in a forced whisper. I grunted a little resistance as I began to move over to the table. I assumed the fullness of the establishment would render all available tables to the wait list. If I hadn't obeyed my wife I would certainly fell prey to the ol' assumption rule. However, Cholocate Day had given me a booster shot of cooperation.
Turns out that the five or six tables near the bar were up for 'dibs'. So the 75 minute wait was reduced to about 5. I love this woman! We ordered some muscles as an appetizer, tasted from a new bottle of wine and enjoyed the day, our company and the grace at which we had overcome an interminable wait. Our generous appetizer arrived sporting a huge hunk of lemon in the center. I noted that it longed to be squeezed upon the surrounding sea creatures. So I gingerly picked up my butter brothed yellow condiment and tried to squeeze. But it was too large and I was holding it too lightly trying to avoid completely baptizing my hand in the warm broth. So I added a digit to the two already assaulting the citrus and put some grunt into my squeeze.
Two things happened nearly simultaneously. The first, barely noticeable, was a couple drops of fresh lemon juice dribbled into the previously seasoned broth. The second, and several eyes noticed this, a giant yellow hockey puck flew from my hand, and shot diagonally across the room landing with a sklishhh, in the center of the dining area.
My first amazement was that the projectile did not hit anyone as it flew through the crowded room. Light laughter lofted from a few nearby tables and I noticed three or four pairs of eyes upon me as I tried to slurp off any evidence of the incident from my butter-guilty fingers.
My lovely wife laughed along with the strangers and said, "you'd have thought it was a hockey puck. We're glad we didn't hurt anyone...heh heh heh". I noted a sense of relief as my dear partner claimed joint custody of the moment. After 35 years, I've experienced several moments in public that she was perfectly willing for me to have individual ownership. It felt good to truly share this slapstick moment together.
Dinner went on wonderfully after that. No spilled wine, no dribbles down the front of my shirt. I did note a glance our way a time or two and thought they might be looking for an encore from the orchard. As we finished our dinner and Kevin delivered the secret message, we just nodded around the room with smiles at any eyes we might connect with.
A really special Valentine Dinner for two, including wine and lavish desert and plenty of left overs... and all for less than if we had fast food at a drive thru, and it all started with a lemon.
1 comment:
Great story! love ya!
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