HONK IF YOUR SERVICE IS GREAT

This weekend the man friend (hereafter known as 'Rusty' - Are you happy now, Tiff? It's on my blog so it MUST be real!) ATTEMPTED to feed me. He eventually succeeded (three hours later by no fault of his own). It started off innocently enough. I was hungry. He was paying. So Friday evening we drove into one of the nearby towns (by 'one of' I mean ONLY nearby town) that is sprawling enough to have TWO legit restuarants. The first one boasted a 45 minute wait to which my grumbly tummy declared we would try out luck elsewhere. Elsewhere just so happened to be Ruby Tuesdays.

Nothing too exciting. Nothing I haven't done before.

We apparently merely suggested to the hostess that we THOUGHT we would like a seat in the smoking section (yeah, mom was surprised, too) but we obviously weren't not too sure. We also apparently told only ourselves that we were going to sit at the bar for the 30 minute wait. First thing we noticed as we walk into the smoking section where the bar is located: two empty tables.

I suggested maybe they're running behind because there were a number of people outside.

45 minutes, someone who JUST WALKED INTO THE DOOR being seated before us, and two MORE empty tables later , Rusty decided to ask the hostess if we might be seated as well. She claimed she walked into the bar and called us. Not so. We were as close as you could get to her little podium and nary did she call our name. Not wanting to make a scene, Rusty asked her again to seat us in the smoking section. And she seated us immediately. In the NONsmoking section. Man friend is not pleased. I suggested lightening up, at least we were seated at this point and conversation turned to dinner.

20 minutes later and the lady at the table next to ours leaned over and asked, "you haven't been served yet?" Very astute madame. As our retained possession of the vivid red menus (I think rather clearly) indicated, we had NOT yet been helped. She told her waiter. He tells us he'll get the manager.

A portly fellow in a white buttonup that just screams inept sauntered on over, KNELT DOWN so he's on our eye level, and asked how us folks are doing this evening. Rusty proceeded to explain the last six paragraphs to the man whose managerial response is, "awww."

AWW?! Are you kidding me?!

He asked how he could make it better but at this point Rusty was sputtering pissed and I couldn't even look at the guy because I was laughing at Rusty for being so pissed. So rather than accepting his generous offer of free, spit on food, Rusty informed the man that we would be leaving as soon as he finished his beer (because he'd actually already paid for that), to which our friend responded, "None of my customers leave unhappy."

Like hell they don't. Rusty's stubborn.

Speaking of stubborn, he also feels the importance of fulfilling all his promises, particularly the one about sitting ON MY PILLOW WITH HIS BARE ASS. I had to drive home THREE HOURS and rather than just being able to immediately crash my head into a nice, fresh pillow, I had to CHANGE THE SHEETS.

And blog about it.

OH! And one more update. For any of you who have known me for any extended period of time (really, we're talking a matter of minutes here people), you know that graceful I ain't. One particular move I consistantly find challenging is, apparently, USING STAIRS. Damnit. It was ONE STEP UP and I didn't lift my foot high enough and now the tip of my middle toe isn't so bruised you can see it, but is bruised enough for me to bitch about it. And I fell, too. Not really because I tripped (which I DID) but rather because of my brains refusal to use the toes I'd just bashed into the metal strip to break the downward motion. Now, I have to give Rusty credit. He didn't laugh (though that smile was a little condesending) and he offered to help me up but the only thing I could think at the time was "Ow. Ow. Ow. Don't cry. Ow."