Date Night Report: Excuse me, waiter, there’s an a%# in my soup.


Laura {not the Mothering art director, a different Laura–since I guess it needs clarification, haha} and I had an absolutely perfect dinner at Farina on Central (in Albuquerque) last night. It started with a chopped vegetable salad to share (great value) and then we moved on to a melanzane (eggplant) brick oven pizza. You know the kind. Thin crust, almost gossamer bubbling cheese, zingy yet subtle sauce and perfectly done eggplant. Accompanied by a bottle of A Mano zinfandel for twenty-something bucks, and a shared affogato for dessert (they dump a shot of espresso over gelato. Melty, creamy, coexisting with bitter and hot…until they become some kind of fusion that exceeds the sum of its properties–or they would if Laura and I let it get to that point.

Sometime after the pizza eating had begun, an unfortunate element made its presence known at our table. A butt.

A man’s butt, to be exact, draped in a sort of summer-weight, micro-houndstooth blazer, with a bit of sheen to the fabric.

I understand that he was one of the people standing around waiting for a table. He was with some gal, and they were enthusiastic in each other’s presence. But there was PLENTY of room, big gaping spots of room in the standing room section, and he didn’t need to have his butt cheeks suspended over our previously unbesmirched eggplant pizza. I looked at Laura. She looked at me. I made my first assay at taking back my space–I did a sort of “accidental” lunge where my elbow connected with his person.

Nothing. Maybe he thought his lady friend goosed him.

I tapped him on the arm.

Still nothing. Maybe he thought it was part of the cascade of physicality going on with his date.

I tapped him again, harder, and said “Excuse me,” my best Suzie Cream Cheese smile plastered on my face.

He finally turned to me.

“Can you just scoot over a little bit, mmkaythanks?!”

He said, “Oh. Sorry.” In a not sorry voice (Moms know the not sorry voice), and moved away.

The octogenarian couple (also their date night) next to us nodded in approval. “Good for you!” the woman said. They know the value of protecting date night.

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on Saturday, January 30th, 2010 at 8:57 am and is filed under Uncategorized, review on the run, the flavor.
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3 thoughts on “Date Night Report: Excuse me, waiter, there’s an a%# in my soup.”

  1. It could have been worse, so much worse. My head is spinning with ideas, best to have nipped that visitor in the butt.

  2. Rock on, Candace!

    What a rude guy, fortunately you knew how to handle the situation and make that date night spectacular.

    I’ve missed your blog posts, keep ’em coming!

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