Our anniversary dinner date to a local steakhouse started out in a most delightful way. We were stuck on a major highway for an hour as it was completely shut down while the CSI dudes investigated a motorcycle accident that had just occurred.
Didn’t they know it was our anniversary? Sheesh.
People stuck on the road with us were spinning out their tires and cutting across medians and milling about outside their cars. We opted to just enjoy the exhaust fumes and sing ’80s power ballads at the top of our lungs.
Soon, though, we started to become delirious. We looked around for some Goldfish crackers or fruit snacks or something. But, noooo, this was my husband’s car, not the MamaMobile I drive that is fully stocked 24/7 with all manner of snack items.
We called the restaurant to let them know we’d be fashionably late and they said they’d save our table for us. Thank God. We were hungry. And perhaps a bit testy.
Once we inched our way there we felt we needed a celebratory drink immediately — just for making it there.
We were seated in a small room with five or six other tables and nice, soothing music pumped in over a sound system.
Ahhh, we thought. Now we can relax and reflect upon our 11 years together — how we’ve changed, how we’ve grown, our children . . .
Then, SHE began her antics that would haunt us all evening.
SHE was a loud-mouthed diner two tables away who insisted upon letting us ALL know about her cat’s sleeping habits, food idiosyncracies and which paw he preferred to lick ALL NIGHT.
It’s the left one, by the way.
Her table was perhaps not as interested in her tall tales as she would have liked so she felt she needed to SCREAM her comments so that everyone could enjoy them.
We tried to mind our own business and decide on an appetizer but we couldn’t hear each other across our very small table. We could hear HER though.
And as the night wore on, we began to look around the room to see if it was just us. Were we the only ones bothered by the loud talker?
Apparently not. We locked eyes with the guy at the next table. He made a face and gestured toward us.
“I just told my children she reminds me of a Saturday Night Live skit,” the man said.
Pretty soon the other tables around us wanted in on the gossip action.
“I don’t care what she had for breakfast!” came from a back table.
“The other people at her table don’t even want to listen to her!” a dude at the table behind us said.
Even the wait staff got in on it with secret eye rolls and shoulder shrugs in our direction.
And then . . . they left!
The entire room literally applauded.
By that time, we were done with our steaks and we were ready to go too.
We had made some good friends, though, and we even met a couple who were celebrating their 11th anniversary also.
I always enjoy being with my husband, but we could have experienced ALL of that evening at home.
My kids could manage to hold me hostage for over an hour, not letting me eat and choking me with noxious fumes of some sort.
And all I have to do if I want some inane conversation I didn’t ask for is invite over some ladies I’ve stood in line behind at the grocery store.
And the steak? It was good, but nothing beats my own. Still.
So the quest continues . . .