We’re learning that we have to relearn our lives, what with N in tow (or is it us in tow?).
Tonight, for our monthly date, we decided to go to a local “casual Italian and Greek cuisine” restaurant (the nicest joint in town) for dessert. You know, dessert doesn’t take as long as a whole meal, so N would probably sleep through it.
Well, the restaurant was rather busy. I scampered in to scope out the scene; for a booth we’d have to wait about fifteen minutes, said the hostess. I scampered back to the car, where N was fussing up a storm. Sitting in an idle car seat behooves her not.
Our backup plan, which we had discussed earlier, just in case of this very situation, was to go across the street to Wendy’s for a Frosty. It wouldn’t be as romantic, but we wouldn’t have to wait around.
Or so we thought. We strode into the burger barn, and M scoped out and claimed a seat while I jumped in line. And there was a line. About fifteen minutes later, a Frosty in each hand, I joined her.
Then a nice old man with shaking hands, a bus driver for the deaf and blind school students who’d been responsible for my line, asked if we charge for looks (into the car seat). (He had actually been in front of me in line, and I’d noticed that his payment for his meal was telling the Wendy’s lady that he was the bus driver. That’s a slick policy, I’d say.)
He fawned over N a bit, and went on his way. We finished our desserts, N started to cry, and so we drove home to finish our date there.
