Friday nights are date nights with Mr. Man. We started this tradition to not only end our week with a little fun and to catch up on what our big plans for the up coming weekend were, but also to remind us that we are still a couple. A team. You've got my back I've got yours. We can still have fun together. We still think alike and finish each others sentences.
Some Friday nights are exciting and creative and go on and on. There are also the duds. Dinner is down the street and not so good, we are tired, one of us is crabby and / or bitchy (it ain't me), or the date starts at 5:00pm and we're home by 7:00. Ugh! That's the worst. Date fail. Home before dark!
Occasionally a date can start boring and end up awesome or amusing. This was the case on our last date night.
We were at an Italian restaurant, enjoying the ambience, the patrons talking loudly and excitedly after getting their first drink and meal. I am also enjoying the evening. My food is awesome but needed a bit of salt. (you had to have permission to utilize it by Mr. Picky Chef who assumes all our palates are refined like his. I'm paying a bundle for this food and I'll put anything on it I want! Even ketchup if called for!)
So here we are, slurping up our pasta and enjoying the meal. A large party is seated by us. They all are having the same meals we are. The fettuccini alfredo is popular as is the steak primavera with marinara sauce. I'm surprised that the young lady in my line of site doesn't like her choices and has removed the meat from her meal. She was loving the sauce and slurping up the noodles efficiently....except her long hair was mopping up the sauce out of her bowl every time she took a bite. Surely she would notice by the second....third.....fourth.....ninth bite!
Her hair was covered in pasta and LOTS of sauce. Wouldn't you think her tablemates would have mentioned that her hair was turning into the late night special? I mentioned to Mr. Man to take a look at the sauce sucker upper seated across from us.
In typical male oblivion, he says loudly, "Who's dunking their head in their plate?". "Where is she?"
At least he alerted the tables around us to check and see if they were drowning themselves in their sauce. The young lady seemed to finally notice, or heard, and started wiping her hair down. Far too late, she tucks her locks behind her ears and pushes her plate away. There's still plenty of marinara in the hair behind her ear for a snack later.
So you see? This is a cautionary tale.
Tie back, slurp up, and wear a bib. Less hair is more sauce.
Gustare il pasto!
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