My husband and I had date night last evening. We are now blessed enough to have a great babysitter on speed dial who manages to keep the house from burning down and the kids from killing each other. So taking advantage of the opportunity for some one-on-one adult time, we hopped in the car and headed to one of our favorite nearby Finger Lakes.
It’s funny how our date nights usually begin. Typically my husband irritates me about something- on purpose- because he thinks it’s funny. Then he takes FOREVER to get out the door and in the car. Always having to go back in the house for something- his purse, lipstick, tampons. Whatever. Because of this, I’m annoyed and we don’t speak for the first fifteen minutes of the car ride. Slowly the ice melts off of me and amiable chatter ensues. By the time we reach our destination we’re laughing like the old friends we are.
Last night we were both eager to sit and have a cocktail by the water and catch up. Seated by the hostess, we picked up our menus and perused the adult beverage selection. Deciding in a matter of moments which refreshment we were going to indulge in, we put the menus aside and waited patiently for our server to take the order.
I’d like to say that I can honestly tell you, I am not a demanding customer when in a restaurant. If I have my drink, I’m good. Take all the time you need to get back to me about my meal. Unless my children are with me and out of control or- we haven’t been acknowledged after thirty minutes of being seated.
Anyway, we waited, talking and enjoying the scenery.
And waited- and waited- and waited.
The previously melted ice slowly began to freeze again as waitress after waitress walked past us. Chris tried to keep the conversation lite, sensing my irritation. But at one point, he looked at me and asked, “Whatda’ think? Do you want to wait a little longer or leave?”
Reluctant to leave our prime seat with its beautiful surroundings, I said “Let’s give it a few more minutes and then we’ll go.”
Twenty five minutes of waiting patiently (sort of), I finally got up and went to find the hostess. In hot pursuit of my cocktail, I was fortuitous enough to happen upon the manager. Coincidentally, he remembered me from being an acquaintance of my sister and her husband. After greetings and hugs, I explained my plight to which he apologized profusely and remedied immediately.
I went and sat back down with my husband who started laughing. I looked at him and asked, “What?”
He shook his head and said, “Here we go again. I’ll have the Spit Shandy and she’ll take a glass of your finest Saliva Chardonnay. We’ll also take the Spittle Crab Fritters and The Tomato Mozzarella with the Balsamic Drool Reduction. Only you would end up running into the boss! The guy who’s making our crab cakes is probably picking his nose and adding a little something extra as we speak.”
“What?” I asked, feigning innocence. “I was really nice about it. It’ll be fine.” But we did laugh pretty hard over the whole idea; reminiscing over another situation involving possible spit cakes because of a disgruntled bakery worker at the grocery store, who refused to make a less “girly” birthday cake for my son. Her poor customer service and demeanor sent me on a tirade through the store in search of a manger.
But the truth is, this was nothing like that. It was as simple oversight. The evening went off without further issue and we quite enjoy ourselves. The service was great; the food was wonderful- all together it was a great date night.
Later, on the way home we got talking about us, our relationship, and the years of knowing each other. This led to my husband explaining why he has never felt like he has to “stick up for or take care of me”.
“You’re a strong person. I don’t feel like I need to step in and take care of things. You’ve got it handled usually before I even think to handle it.”
I took that as a compliment- it better have been. I know I’m very assertive and won’t apologize for it- I’m a “get-er-done” kinda’ girl- A “I got this” type of woman. There’s no “wait until your father gets home” at my house. It’s more like, “You wait until your mother finds out about this.”
And- there is nothing inappropriate about notifying someone that we’d waited almost a half an hour and still hadn’t been waited on for drinks. They were busy and we were simply forgotten about. It happens- it’s happened to me when I was a waitress. Handled with a smile and a kind reminder and you get a couple of free drinks and friendly, attentive service. And- hopefully no spit.