My cousin, Sally offered to watch Ham for us and when the night rolled around we put real people clothes on, got in the car and sailed down the street.
The problem is, is that we had no idea where we were going.
Mr. Yardbird turned the corner and asked me where we were headed.
I gave him my best "beats me" shrug of the shoulders.
You see, we were both pretty beat, Mr. Yardbird working harder than anyone I know and me chasing a toddler around the house while simultaneously writing well-thought papers. It was exhausting.
Somehow neither of us had thought about it.
So after driving around for forty five minutes we chose a real expensive restaurant for lack of direction and hunger and because we had no idea what to do with ourselves.
The problem with real expensive restaurants is that nine times out of ten, Mr. Yardbird is going to get sick three bites into the meal.
But we'll get to that in a minute.
So anyway, we get to the restaurant which is on a quaint but sort of busy street and decide why not sit outside. What a view the outside had, this is after all a really kind of trendy area.
What we failed to realize was that it was only 6:45 pm of one of the hottest days of the year and the cement sidewalks don't technically cool until well after the sun goes down. And so, even in the evening hours, when the sun is tucked behind buildings or trees, it's about as hot as the holy moly outside.
But nonetheless, we tell our hostess, we want to sit outside and we get a 'what a bunch of morons' look which neither of us really notice.
"Isn't this nice," I asked Mr. Yardbird.
He nods his head and smiles at me, taking a sip of his Malbec wine.
Malbec wine isn't the kind of wine you want to drink when it's excruciatingly hot outside. No, its robust, heavy taste makes it by far a cold weather wine. But we weren't thinking and so beads of sweat are forming at our temples and above our mouths.
But that's okay because this is romantic.
And besides that nothing quite cools you off like a nice breeze. No not the wind. But the gust of wind that each passing car brings as it plows down this little street. The cars that - did I mention - are only three feet away and when they pass they just about take you away with them.
That's okay because the breeze or gust of wind, well, it's sort of romantic too.
The waiter comes out and asks us what we would like. I'd tell you what we ordered but I haven't a clue. All I remember is that Mr. Yardbird and I couldn't decide on some oysters for an appetizer and just when we decided not to get them...
"and we'll start off with oysters." Mr. Yardbird told the waiter. So I shrugged my shoulders, he must have really wanted them.
And while we wait, we try to come up with conversation that doesn't involve work, or school or Ham. But just as soon as that starts...
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Mr. Yardbird and I turn and realize our loud humming source is the street light across the road. We turn back to each other and we smirk a little bit, because I think we sort of know the situation that we got ourselves in. So, we try our best to talk above the loud constant hum of the light.
And while we talk we casually wipe the sweat from our brows, and pull at our clothes that are sticking to us, and I don't know about Mr. Yardbird, but it takes everything in me not to stand up and slap my legs and arms like a lunatic, because well, it is after all mosquito season and the last I checked there had been some mosquitoes buzzing around with encephalitis. But who cares about that.
And just when we thought we were at our wits end, the waiter appears with our oysters and boy do they look delicious. So we break off our share and we begin eating. I hardly notice Mr. Yardbird, because the fried oysters are entirely too delicious but then I decide to look up and tell him I'm so glad he decided to get them.
But, Mr. Yardbird...he didn't look so good.
I look over at a pale Mr. Yardbird, slowly chewing his oh so good oysters.
"You don't look so good."
"I don't feel so good."
It could have been the constant gushes of city air, or loud almost, deafening sound of the street light, it could have been the oysters, or the fact that it felt like 102 degrees outside, it might have even been the onset of encephalitis or any combination of the above. What I did know is that pale look of his face was nothing to take lightly.
"Maybe you should go splash some water on your face." I say this because I know exactly where this is headed and I need to by us some time to get the heck out of there.
"You're right." And while he heads off to the bathroom. I motion the waiter over, tell him to box everything up including our food that hasn't come out yet and cork the wine. We're leaving. And being the nice waiter he was everything was set to go as soon as Mr. Yardbird reappeared.
"Let's go."
Whatever it was that was ailing Mr. Yardbird didn't seem to be bothering him the closer we got to the car. "We should go for a walk. I feel better."
But I didn't think we should take any chances.
He set the wine in the backseat and we drove home in the nice cool air conditioned car.
But a quick slam of the breaks and I hear a loud thump in the back seat.
"Was that the....?" "Did you put the...."
A turn my head and sure enough the wine has exploded all over the back seat.
I shake me head. I'm trying to keep my cool but I want to tell him, "To the moon, Mr. Yardbird." and shake my fist in the air, like Ralph from the honeymooners.
But, I don't and I say "let's go get some carpet cleaner."
And so instead of getting our facebook, power couple photo in front of the restaurant, we snapped this at wal-mart.
 |
| Good Ole Wal-Mart |
 |
| Night Heron |
 |
| Googling Night Herons |
No comments:
Post a Comment