Last night was a triumph of the wills in my family. My parents tried hard not to make a nasty scene in a restaurant, and I had to watch.
We went out to eat to one of those really nice steak house, the type with valet parking,dark mahogany paneling, rich red and green carpets, and parquet floors. I'm not terribly fond of beef, so anything from their kitchen to me tastes just "ok." So given, I don't like beef,(uh oh- I hope the National beef counsel isn't reading this, given their record they would sue me) And I was not impressed by the food or the menu. Everything is ordered al la carte; thus making one's already high bill even higher if one wishes not to dine on meat alone. Their menu a menu looks more like a butchers price list (if he was slaughtering golden calves). My prime rib cutlets came to me on a 350 degree plate, and were cooking in front of me. I wish something could have been said for the side order of undercooked vegetables. Even the dinner salad was disappointing. However, during the evening I concluded after my numerous trips to the "rainbow room" That I too have peed in the same urinal with such greats as Larry Mizel and Pete Coors.
Anyways, my parents and I sat for three hours in awkward silence. Intermittently my parents discussed the weather. Occasionally one of them would make a jab at the other, and then resume to the weather. Secretly I could see my mother clenching her fists, desperately controlling her glass of red wine from ending up in my father face. My dad was having the problem with the silverware. I have a strange feeling that their marriage may not last as long as that dinner did. Currently I'm just speculating. I don't want something like that to jump up and surprise when least expecting it.
During the three hours of eating and waiting I had to fight off the impulse to run away and scream from my family. I wanted to do something antisocial like strip naked and run around the restaurant dancing on the tables of elderly patrons, just so I would be forced to leave. Instead I had another glass of wine.
Please, no rump roast jokes here.