Eating Out

"Y'all OK here? Want some sweet tea?"

I hate trying new places. I hate walking out after a meal thinkin, "I can't believe we spent money on that!"

So our mainstay for a nice meal is, believe it or not, Chili's. When it first opened, we could both get chicken fried steaks (that's all we ever get!) for around $20. Of course it's gone up recently. It's a special meal for us. We don't eat out often but if we do it's usually Arby's or McDonald's... ech. Or fried chicken from the grocery store because I'm too exhausted to drive anywhere else after work and errands. Ech, ech.

Last Friday Shawn suggested we go out to eat somewhere "nice". Of course it boiled down to Chili's. "I'll get my top hat and monocle, " he says. Ha, ha.

We were seated near the bar and there was a drunk that apparently had the greatest high school career ever. I could tell because that's all he talked about--very, very loudly.

"You know what's sad?" I ask Shawn. "The fact that this guy is in his forties, reliving his glory days of high school and life must suck so much for him now. That's great for us though. Our high school lives were horrible and now life seems pretty OK. And there's more than four years of it."
"I just love these guys that relive their football glory days like Al Bundy," he snickered.

The waitress wouldn't leave us alone. Yes, we're fine. We're OK; everything is grand and wonderful and super fine. Now go away! We're chatting and you've interrupted us one too many times!

The glitter on her eyelids was so thick, Shawn was afraid that if she broke a sweat, some glitter might fall into her eye and cut into her retina. Meanwhile, I checked my steak for any signs of shiny, green, glitter.

Shawn had finished all his food except for a good helping of chicken fried steak crunchy-stuff, which I wanted. I finished all mine, and was picking at my potatoes. I pushed my fork around Shawn's plate to get at some of the crunchy stuff (love that crunchy stuff!) and Pushy Waitress suddenly appears as though Scotty had just beamed her down.

"My, somebody's hungry!" she says cheerfully.

My first thought: Shut up. Just shut up!
But I am in public and live in a civilized society.

Pushy Waitress continues to speak, and this point in the night, I have no idea why. "Wow, I can't even finish a whole one! Usually maybe about half, blah blah blah blah...."

Why are your hands on our table? Go away! Yes, we were hungry. Now go away!

"Are you done there?" she asks, grabbing Shawn's plate. "Done with your potatoes?" she asks, reaching for mine.

"YEAH! Whatever!" I snap. This has happened to us before. Though we are full, we both tend to sit over our plates, picking at what's left while we chat. We paid for it, we have the right too! Last time we were out, at a Chinese restaurant it happened. The waitress didn't even ask Shawn if he was done, just sorta took his plate and said, "AreyoudoneI'lltakethat," as she walked away. Shawn glared at me and hissed, "I wanted to finish my chicken!" But she was already gone.

Glitter Waitress had already irritated me with her constant need for reassurance that we were "OK". Shawn started to leave a five dollar tip on a bill for $26. I glared at him. "It's all I have!"

"I've got some ones!" I snapped. Hey, waitress, don't go touching my husband's arm, hoping for a better tip. At least not while he's dining with his WIFE. Don't feel the need to interrupt our conversation every flippin' five seconds. Don't lean on the table and try to be our friends, don't comment on how much we've eaten, don't reach for my plate while I've got a fork parked on it and that same fork is in my hand, and for Pete's sake, YOU'RE A GROWN WOMAN! I HAVEN'T PLAYED WITH GLITTER SINCE I WAS A LITTLE KID!!!

See why I hate eating out? I have a mental image of strippers with macaroni glued to their eyelids with Elmer's brand glue. Mark my words. It's coming, people.