No, I haven't completely abandoned Favorite Things Friday or even the lame-o substitute, Flashback Friday. But if you start something like that and have to FORCE yourself to come up with a topic for the week, it wasn't much worth it, was it? That's what I'm telling myself.
Hubby and I went out to dinner tonight as part of his latest quest for the one set of golf clubs in the universe that might turn his game around. We had to drive TOWARD Atlanta (you know, that city everyone else was trying desperately to get OUT OF at 5:00? Yeah, that one), a drive of about 35 miles and 48 blood pressure points.
We visited two stores that have "golf" in their names, and we didn't buy a darn thing. A man asked me in one of the stores if I were finding everything all right, and it took every ounce of self-discipline for me not to snap, "It wouldn't take long in here, buddy." Then I remembered all the times Hubby waited patiently for me while I shopped for... Never mind, that never happened. Although he did go on one bicycle shopping expedition once upon a time, and he pointed out the first yellow one he came to and said, "Buy that one."
I'm always amazed at how much of other people's conversations I can overhear when we are eating out. I certainly hope other people can't hear OUR conversations that well, because Hubby is usually making fun of the way everyone else in the restaurant looks, talks, or eats. (He only does that when he's drinking beer, you understand.)
To be honest, I couldn't really hear the couple seated behind Hubby. I did notice that it took an earnest conversation with the waiter just to place their order, though. And then hers had to be brought out THREE DIFFERENT TIMES. She sent it back the first two times.
I know there are two schools of thought regarding sending back food in a restaurant if it isn't cooked to your specifications. One philosophy is that with the high prices of eating out (we were at a steak house) and the overall sucky economy (which has done nothing to quell the flow of millions of people who tend to choose the same restaurants we do), one has a right to have one's steak cooked properly. You order it, you request it be cooked a certain way, and you expect it to be right. If it isn't acceptable, you ask the management to make it acceptable. I get that.
However, the other school of thought, and the one of which I am an alumna and magna cum laude valedictorian student body president, is that when you eat out you take your chances to a certain degree. If the food is spoiled, of course I agree with sending it back. If they bring out the wrong thing, I might ask them to bring what I ordered. (Although if it looks good and doesn't cost me any more than what I ordered, I might just eat it. I take it as a sign.) But if the steak (assuming I ordered steak, which I only do about once a year in a stupid moment) is a tad pinker than I like it, I tend to eat what I can and chalk it up to the crap shoot that is eating out. It took the waiter, two managers, and someone who came out of the kitchen (and he may or may not have been carrying a sledgehammer) to make this particular woman happy. At least I hope she was happy. I was kind of embarrassed FOR her, even if she wasn't embarrassed herself.
The other (actual) snippet of conversation came from the couple behind me. They discussed at great length what they were going to have, what it came with (he did NOT want any steamed vegetables), and how it would be cooked. Then I heard them conversing with the waitress and telling her they had just found out they were going to be grandparents. (I realize this is a big moment for them, and I'll try not to make too much fun of them.) At least I THINK they just found out, but then they started talking about the baby's name. Are they just ASSUMING it will be a boy, or is THAT what they found out today? I wish I had turned around and clarified things. I'm sure if I explained that I was planning to put their conversation in my blog that the whole world could (potentially) see, they would have been happy to provide the details.
Actually, they would. Because they were spewing details faster than the waitress could write them down on her pad. (Because I'm sure that's what she was writing.)
The baby's name is going to be Jackson Brody. They could have stopped right there, because personally I think that is a pretty cool name for a baby. My grandmother always called my brother Jackson (his name is Jack, but she didn't believe in nicknames, go figure), so I'm a little partial to that name even if it isn't really his. Then they explained the middle name. Seems this couple has been together "forever," and they have a dog named Brody. So they are going to give the dog's name to the baby as his middle name.
Seriously?
I guess there are worse things than being named after a dog.
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