No, I didn't go river rafting or rock climbing or skeet shooting. My sense of accomplishment came from single-handedly getting a sitter.
Yes, I found a responsible, experienced, college sophomore, who didn't have a date on Saturday night. Unfortunately, her boyfriend comes back from National Guard duty next week; but we had her for Saturday night.
We had her so my husband and I could go out for a romantic dinner for two. Yes, the romantic dinner was my idea. Our children would outgrow the need for a sitter if I waited for John to suggest having dinner at a new, chic, French restaurant.
We arrived at what John referred to as Chez Cost A Lot as equals; but somehow my equality got checked at the door, along with my coat. John was given the coat check. John was also given the undivided attention of the maitre d' when he confirmed the reservation that was in my name.
When the maitre d' asked if we preferred a table inside or on the patio, he asked John. "On the patio", I replied, whereupon the maitre d' looked at John for his approval.
Then our care was turned over to a waiter, who appeared at our table immediately and who asked John if we would like to start with something from the bar.
Having balanced my check book that day - often a daunting task - and figured out how to get my son to his soccer game when I had an appointment across town, I felt confident I could decide if I wanted a drink. In fact, when I had carried the ladder upstairs to change a light bulb that morning, I hadn't felt like a member of the weaker sex.
Deciding what to have for dinner, however, was difficult. My menu had no prices. When I asked the waiter for a menu like my husband's, he was flustered; but I assured him my marriage vows for richer or poorer included menu prices.
Obviously, my French pronunciation was a bit rusty because the waiter repeated what I ordered in English. I think he was assuring himself I was sure what I'd ordered.
I was and it was very good. Later dessert was sinfully good. Although I had apple tarte tatin, the look on the waiter's face was frosting on the cake. After sharing a conspiratorial smile with John, I asked for the check. |
