If you haven’t seen the movie “Date Night”, this post will not make any sense.
Come to think of it, this post may not make any sense anyway.
I blame the heat – it’s 153 degrees here in Texas – you can blame my natural tendencies towards mental leapfrog.
On the Epic Road Trip of 2012 we ate like royalty. I mean we went to every kind of restaurant, with every kind of pricing, you could imagine. The only rule we had was to not eat at a place we could go to back home – so no Chili’s or TGIF’s.
One restaurant was an extremely expensive and high-class mecca to the seafood gods in Florida. There was a ginormous saltwater tank in the lobby that wrapped around the bar area, and a piano player added to the ambience. He’d of added more if he hadn’t attempted to sing, too. As it was, though, his singing just gave us more to snark about.
The first thing I noticed was how seriously under-dressed we were for the occasion. As women glided by on gossamer cocktail-wear and the men sauntered behind looking like they’d just stepped off the pages of GQ – The Caribbean Edition, I looked first at me and then at hubby, both wearing flip-flops with him in a t-shirt and shorts and me in a sundress.
Undaunted I approached the hostess stand and the fact that the hostess’ face showed her disdain was not lost on me. It was also the reason for the following conversation:
ME: How long is the wait for two people?
HOSTESS: 1 – ½ to 2 hours.
ME: Whoa…um okay.
HOSTESS: *picks up one of those pager-thingys and starts to write down the number as she asks my name* Name?
ME: Tripplehorn, and please don’t hand me that bacteria-laden device. Can you just call our name when it comes time to seat us? We’ll be at the bar.
HOSTESS: *looking down her nose at me, but nonetheless now grasping the pager-thingy in her thumb and forefinger and holding it away from her* Umm…sure.
Hubby and I were barely able to withhold the giggle-fest as we sat at the bar and expectantly awaited a snooty hostess to come by and say “Tripplehorn?” repeatedly when it came our time to be seated.
I wish I could say we had an epic night, ala “Date Night”, but after seriously considering jumping into the tank to snag a clown fish (don’t look Nemo!) for dinner we were so hungry, we decided to eat at the bar.
We did not, however, remove our name from the list, so two hours later as we finished dessert a second snooty hostess walked through the bar and lobby repeatedly saying, “Tripplehorn? Tripplehorn, party of two?”.
We weren’t the only ones laughing.