Oh … romance. What is that?
So the lack of dating for most parents can be the result of several factors. Time is usually a huge one, and finding a night to go out in and of itself can be a challenge. Then there is finding a sitter, plotting and planning for your child to be fed/bathed/rocked while you and the other parent are absent. For some parents, you may even weigh the financial setback of a date night. Between dinner, drinks, movie, show, whatever … and paying a babysitter … it seems easier to order pizza and cough up the five bucks for pay-per-view.
But, my mom was visiting from Ohio and stayed for a whole week, so Saturday night, it felt like we had the time. Ned and I talked about it and thought we’d have a relaxing dinner, go see a movie … things we don’t really do anymore.
So the movie was a challenge, not really much that we were dying to see, and what we did really want to see wasn’t release until the following weekend. But we settled on Cloud Atlas, and dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. I was ready for a cocktail, heels and a nice bag-o-popcorn.
As I’m putting on makeup and Ned gets out of the shower he says, “Do you really have your heart set on seeing a movie?”
Oh boy, here it comes. He doesn’t plan the date, but now here is a new, bigger, more appealing idea. He wants to drive to a little town over in West Virginia, which has a German restaurant that we really like (goodbye, gnocci) and then hit up one of the other little places in the quaint college town for a drink.
I say okay. I’m trying to be agreeable.
So with no movie to make, I finish drying my hair, put on my face and we head out. It is a half-hour drive, one I rarely enjoy. A windy, hilly country road equals a nauseated Molly. So Ned takes care to drive slowly for me, and we get to the Bavarian restaurant around 7:00 p.m. A huge tent is set up on the property (which doubles as an inn), and we walk up to the pub entrance. It’s closed. We find our way to the main entrance to discover that the only way we’re eating weisswurst is if we crash the wedding that is taking place there. The entire establishment is reserved for the private party.
So we head off to the nearby town and quickly find a cute-looking French bistro. We head in and are asked if we have a reservation. My husband tells the hostess, “No.” She proceeds to tell him that the restaurant is full for the evening. Ned asks, “You mean you have no tables available for the entire night?” She confirms in a voice that says, “Duh. That’s what I just said.”
So we head out, find another restaurant, Italian. Again, we’re asked if we have a reservation. Again no. The hostess walks away from us and returns a millisecond later to say she can seat us at 9:00 p.m. Ned checks his watch. It’s 7:30. Not one seat available out of the dozen at the bar.
We put our name in and leave to wander the streets again, and after ten more minutes in the 40-degree cold, we’re no closer to finding another restaurant. The options for food aren’t great. We’re in a teeny town in the middle of nowhere, civilization is at least another forty-five minutes away. It’s now 7:45 p.m. I’m trying not to curse under my breath. Had we stuck to our original plan, we’d be having dessert and heading to the theater by now.
As we pile back in the car, we spot one last restaurant, and I hop out. They have a beef wellington special and a full bar. Sold. We are ushered in to a dark and dated space, but after a drink we’re feeling better. And just when our date night seems to be salvaged … the food comes. Oh, boy. Stale bread. A “pizzette” that is nothing more than dough and cheese. The worst beef wellington I’ve ever tasted, which managed to be soggy (pastry) and dry (beef), with mushrooms that still tasted of the earth they grew in. Ned’s food was cold, and the ravioli’s on his plate were clearly created in a factory, not a gourmet kitchen. It was one of the most awful meals we’d ever had.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
I mean, really, what are the chances? Of changing plans at the last minute, one restaurant totally shutting down for one client and two others not leaving tables open for walk-in guests? On the one night we had chosen for a date, the last night my mom would be with us? Holy shit.
Ned tried to save face by taking us to our local coffee house for a drink and dessert. I ate a sugar cookie and drank a chai; but the sweet ending didn’t seem to fit. We hadn’t had a satisfying first or second course.
The upside is, now we owe each other a real date. Sometime before we run out of Saturdays in 2012.
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