I probably don’t need to remind anyone reading this blog of this fact. If you happen to be reading this now, odds are that you have read some of my earlier rants/posts and already have a pretty good understanding of my freaky nature.
Okay, I admit it
I am reminded every single time I go out to ‘enjoy’ a repast. If I don’t remind myself, I can pretty much count on my darling spouse or my quick-to-judgment-of-me teenage daughter to do so. It doesn’t matter if it is a fine dining restaurant, a bar, a food cart…I can be called on to find fault in the experience. And can usually also count on someone telling me to shut the hell up and enjoy my meal.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to go out, and I actually do enjoy it most of the time, but boy do I wish I could shut it down once in a while. I mean my brain, not the restaurant.
I deserve it
Okay, I am often quick to point out shortcomings during a dining experience. I have mentioned this from time to time on this blog:
So, I say, I deserve it if I am not able to enjoy my time out. Seriously, I just need to take some of my own advice, remind myself why I am out in the first place, gaze into my wife’s eyes and enjoy our time out together.
It is not easy being me
I have also said on a few occasions that every time I go out to eat, I get three or four ideas for blog posts. That might sound great to you, but is in fact, the problem. Sure wish there was something I could do about it. BUT, I need to go out, because I need material for this tabletalkpdx thing.
My dear wife and I went out to a very nice dinner last night with a couple of old friends. Old as in long time (although, let’s face it, we’re old). We were invited by them, but as soon as we arrived at the restaurant I found myself frustrated by a couple of things, including the lack of a greeting from the three or so employees who walked right by us without so much as a glance, and started to take charge. I caught myself mid-breath, reminded myself that we were the guests of this other couple, and quickly hit my off switch (I do have one).
We were seated back in a corner of the restaurant–I’m pretty sure the whole table thing was prearranged so I would be able to see as little as possible. My daughter must have called ahead. She always makes a point of racing ahead to the table to be sure that I am facing a wall.
Maybe that’s the secret? As long as I go in with a blindfold, and get seated where I can’t see anything, I am sure to have a marvelous time.
So, don’t take me too seriously, read what I put down on this blog, and then take it with a grain of salt. And then if you get the chance, take that salt and rub it in the deepest wound I have.