Every so often, in the name of family time, Chris gets some weird idea that I eventually, and against my better judgement, go along with. Sort of like the summer he convinced me that purchasing a red canoe would lead to hours of endless family fun.
Today it was a late lunch/early dinner. He and the kids were out doing some other undoubtedly mind bogglingly boring task and he decided that such nerdness could only be topped off by a meal—at 3 o’clock pm—at our favorite sushi place.
I went along, forfeiting the perfect cup of hot coffee I had just sat down to sip, because…well because I sort of wanted to be with them.
I should have stuck with the coffee.
First, there was the “frugal ordering.” (sometimes he gets on those kicks too). We would all have a small meal. Hadley would share soup with her sister. Sam would order an appetizer. Despite my extreme LACK of hunger, I went along and ordered the Super Crunchy Roll. Which it turns out, is huge.
After slurping more than her share of the “shared” soup, Hadley proclaimed that she was still hungry. No, she didn’t want some of my Super Crunchy Roll–”Yuck,” was her one word proclamation.” She wanted another order of soup and Maisy wanted more edamame. And today, Chris wanted every scrap of food on that table eaten before any more would be ordered by anyone. The we-are-so-fotunate-yet-so-spoiled speech was on the tip of his tongue.
So, my three kids passed around the massive bowl of vegetable soup, now reduced to the dredges of mushrooms and mushy zuchini that nobody wanted. I watched the forlorn scene as long as I could before I exploded.
Chris had chosen that very moment to point out that I had only eaten half of my roll. “C’mon honey, remember we’re not wasting!” Chris cajoled. “Besides, this is Dunch!” He was so smug in his word usage.
I couldn’t hold it in.
“That’s because I am NOT hungry!” I yelled.
Not satisfied, I went on, inhibitions dashed by the privacy of the barren restaurant. The only people that go out for sushi at 3 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon are Japanese business men battling jet lag and uber cool socialites having sushi for breakfast after a night of insanely hip partying. Suffice it to say that Downingtown, PA is NOT a hotbed for either.
“What kind of God forsaken LOSERS eat dinner at 3 o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday? Huh?”
They were all very quiet.
Then I saw it.
Maisy was glancing to her left, where, no more than 3 feet away, sat two lovely, non-loser, non-Japanese, non-partying ladies, enjoying a midday meal that had just turned very uncomfortable.
I left the restaurant head hung low.
Anxious to diffuse the tension, I perked up–totally enthused by my brilliant make-it-up-to-them plan.
There was no cheer as I had expected…just the quiet groan from my kids. Apparently I am even too much of a nerd for my hopelessly uncool family.
At least I don’t have to worry about cooking dinner tonight.