I hate you and your botox face

Thursday, July 21, 2005

I
went out with Nisha and nobody’s going to make a big fuss out of it.
Right? What’s wrong with celebrating a monthsary of an uninteresting
event? What’s wrong with the word monthsary?

Anyway,
we decided to try one of these fancy schmancy Mediterranean restos in
the city but not without giving mutual nods to go Dutch.I’m a
cheapskate like that, I know.I remember before when I used to have a
considerable number of misgivings when I took women to fancy
restaurants. I mean, if my parents did one thing right, they educated
me heavily on manners and dinner etiquette as I was growing up, and
that sort of stuff helps. Come to think of it though, you sit down in a
really swanky restaurant where the entrees alone cost as much as your
entire weekly food allowance and you come to an abrupt realization that
there are a gazillion things you can screw up.Or so my friend Murphy says.

In
places like these, you come across these tiny liturgies you have to
abide with often without leads from anyone. For instance, there are
twenty forks and sixty knives sitting in front of me and every one of
them serves a different purpose for different courses of the meal. That
sucks when you’re obliged to know the use of each one of them based on
their size alone. Like this small fork over here, it’s the soup fork
I’m sure. But why do I need a fork for my soup?

And there’re the things you’re not supposed to do like trying to reuse any of aforementioned utensils.
You have to wait for them to be replaced by the waiter.And although I’m
a hillbilly who’d rather have Red Horse beer than fancy wine, I’d have
to listen intently when the waiter reads through their extensive wine
selections and feign interest even if I don’t want any. Then the waiter
comes up to you with this exquisite wooden grinder at which point you’d
be forced to have pressed pepper on your appetizer because you’re
worried that you might offend him…

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