Posts Tagged ‘drink’

Husband and I got a sitter on Saturday night and decided to go out for a pre-Mother’s Day dinner.   So, after going through the regular exchange:

Me:  Where should we go?

He:  I don’t know.  You pick.

How about x?

Nah.  Too dark.

How about y?

Tables are too close together.

How about z?

Annoying bartenders.

How about you pick?

There’s a storied spot here in Marblehead.   It’s both a bar and restaurant but it’s always been known for “wicked stiff drinks”.  I hadn’t darkened the door of the place since my bachelorette party (Don’t remind me…is that tequila I taste?)  when the food part of the building was really just considered a nice tack-on in case you actually wanted to have something in your stomach and, therefore, a better chance of actually leaving the bar standing upright.   But, we’d been hearing a lot of reports lately that they had a new chef and the food was good.   So, we decided to check it out and off we went.

We enjoyed some grown-up bar drinks (in pint glasses) at the bar downstairs, chatted with a great bartender, then headed up to the restaurant.  Sat at a high-top table, liked the looks of the menu, liked our server, liked the atmosphere.  Right up our alley, really.

And then…he arrived.

Jimmy.  Or Mickey.  Or Sully, perhaps.  Something like that, undoubtedly.

Whoever he was, he was the quintessential loudmouth.  Sitting with two other guys at the bar but his Boston-accent-laden side of the conversation was the only one anyone heard.  And it sounded something like this:

Did you see that f*ckin’ pitch? (pause so someone else could speak…briefly)   Oh, yeah, he got f*ckin’ crushed. (pause)  No f*ckin’ way that was a f*ckin’ out!  That guy needs f*ckin’ glasses.  Blah, blah, blah, f*ckin’, blah, blah, blah, f*ckin’, blah.

Grrrr.   It certainly didn’t ruin our meal but it was annoying and rude and I wish his knucklehead friends had just told him to pipe down.  But, they didn’t.  And on he went.

Husband often tells me I have “rabbit ears”.   That I basically choose to listen to annoying things that others could simply tune out.  For example, I can’t stop myself from listening intently to someone enjoying his gum a little too enthusiastically.  Or someone tapping a pen on a desk.  Or lightly snoring.  Or eating something while on the phone with me (“hey, you want to just call me back when you’re finished?”).

Or dropping the F-bomb loudly and repeatedly at a restaurant.  I mean, come on.

Yesterday, I was reading the blog of a woman whose posts I follow regularly.  She had gone to dinner with her sister and her sister’s new baby and, after the baby had spent some time fussing, a man seated nearby felt compelled to make a comment to them.  And, he wasn’t exactly delicate with his opinions of a crying baby in a restaurant.  It escalated.  I believe they finished their meal but the night was ruined for them.   She was more than a little irritated with the man’s gumption.

But, I had to admit that I sort of sided with the grumpy man in the restaurant.  I feel strongly that, when in a public place where a semblance of decorum is expected (like restaurants, retail stores, etc), it’s a parent’s responsibility to be aware and considerate of the people around them.  And to not allow your child to disrupt someone else’s evening.  Granted, some whining, some crying, some volume — all expected.  Kids are kids.  Kids are allowed at restaurants and allowed at retail stores.  Certainly.  Give ’em a chance.  But, if it gets to the point where the child is overtaking the atmosphere of the restaurant…it’s time to go.  Call it a night.  Get ’em out of there.  Run, Forrest, Run.  Your server and  your fellow patrons will thank you for it.   I know I would.

I’m sure many will disagree.   Like I said, just my opinion.

Anyway, this leads me back to that trash-mouth man in the restaurant Saturday night.  Sure, it wasn’t like we were dining at Le Cirque.  Of course, he had every right to be there enjoying himself with his buddies.  And, frankly, he probably spends a lot more money and certainly a lot more time at that establishment that I do.   It’s probably a heck of a lot more “his place” than mine.  But you know what I wish?

I wish his mother was there.  I wish she was there to hear his language.  That she was there to shush him politely a few times.  Then, to speak a little more sternly, maybe even firmly grabbing his forearm.   Then, that she was there to look him square in the eyes and say  “Stop it now.  I mean it.

And then, when he went on and on and on…?

I wish she’d been there to receive my high-five as she dragged him out by his ear.

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Oh, you want one.  Admit it.

You know.  For all those times when you’re on-the-go, dropping off kids, running to PTO, picking up the dry cleaning and shopping for dinner?   Why let your hectic life get in the way of that critical glass of Cabernet?

Why wait to get alllllll the way home when, now, for the low, low price of $60 you can have this baby?

I mean, come on.  Seriously?!

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One of the little benefits of having children is that they can eventually start to do things that you don’t really want to do anymore.  When I was growing up in Vermont, I proved to be a very handy lawnmower, wood stacker and dog food pourer.  So now, my time has come.  Big Brother is finally at an age when he’s actually starting to be useful.  And, while he’s still too young to mow our lawn or stack wood, you can bet he feeds that dog.   And he loves fetching things around the house for me — a diaper for Little Brother, a pair of shoes, Dad’s dry cleaning bag and other such tasks.  I’d say, though, that I have found him to be most useful in the area of reminders.  As my Mommy brain goes a little more J-e-l-l-o each day, his five-year old brain is sharpening.  So, we often leave the house with a recited list of errands.  Or enter the grocery store with a little chant of critical items.   And, it’s very, very helpful.  He’s saved me from near disaster many times.  “Mom!  You forgot to pick up the dry cleaning!”   or  “Mom!  Did you forget the taco sauce?”

A couple nights ago, the boys and I enjoyed a sunny late afternoon playdate with my wonderful college friend J. and her three kids.   We met at her house, ran the kids around outside and then, as the sun started going down, we all headed back into town for dinner at a local pizza place and ice cream across the street.   For the most part, the kids were stellar.   All five of them well-behaved at the restaurant — eating their dinners, sitting in their chairs, having fun but not to the detriment of other diners.   We were hard to miss with our piles of children but, thankfully, (luckily) we were also the picture of two functional Mommies enjoying a meal with our kids.  Until…

Packing up to leave, throwing away various paper plates, stacking trays and returning the ketchup to the counter.  Big Brother shouts to me from across the restaurant.

Oh!  Mommy!

Shhhh.  What?

Mommy! Racing across the restaurant now, undoubtedly attracting attention of many diners.   Jumping up and down in front of me now.

Mommy! VODKA!  VODKA!  We need VODKA!

(Oh. my.  goodness.)

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…because guess who’s NOT cooking tonight?


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Know what this means?

It means there’s no grilling going on Chez Us.   None.  So, my oven’s working overtime.
I’m thinking about going out there with my hairdryer.

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