Apr 01 2008
Just another date night
“Turn right. Let’s try that pizza place.”
(Too crowded. On a Tuesday night?)
(There’s a line at Carabba’s, too.)
“Head the other direction: Let’s try that Italian place. We can get in and out in an hour - and not miss American Idol,” he said.
She said, “No, we won’t.” and suggested getting it as takeout.
(He agreed, but she wavered. After all, he had been sick all weekend — and they sat — with few people in the restaurant - and he ordered wine.
Tons of pictures and paintings acted as wallpaper on the walls. People and places and scenes… and she looked up to see: the rear end of an animal, it’s more intimate parts in full view… He said, it is a deer, and she thought, how stupid to put that up… must be for the drunks, certainly not for sober vegetarians. Corporate lost trillions of points - and she looked away and stuffed yet more awesome bread into her mouth…
The waiter actually checked the plates before he brought them to the table… he earned points.
Time continued to tick tock away in her head, as toast after toast was made between checking cellphone for time.
Spaghetti with marinara sauce in large quantity to serve themselves, but the plates for them to slurp it from were stone cold. The restaurant lost points.
Finally spaghetti appeared. Good flavor! Two small quick servings were ingested. “Please box it up and bring the check, we have somewhere to be.” Single glass of wine three quarters empty, Pellegrino empty.
“No, we don’t want the salad, too, thank you.” (Not even worth the first bites)
Try to leave the parking lot, turn around, finally find an exit. TV unplugged, heads shake. Remote found. First contestant was already facing Simon. I was right.
However, she didn’t miss David’s new haircut that made him much more appealing than before.
American Idol over. Date night ended. He to movie on laptop. She to computer. Well sated, they were.
Tomorrow is day two of National Poetry Month. Write one. A poem I mean. Not a poet? Doesn’t matter if you are or not, it is the fun in trying that counts.
(A few minor “oops” edited this morning.)
One response so far
I used to write poems.
Hope he’s feeling better, must be the heat.
(((((hugs))))
Why thank you, Brian, for all those hugs! Not the heat, though that will come, seemed more like eating bad food - according to him, that is. “Used to” write poems is not acceptable from you, Brian - I mean it is, but it doesn’t make me happy… I know you have plenty more to share…