On Friday, we went to a fancy Japanese restaurant for dinner. Given that Ana was rushed to the hospital last weekend while Brian and I were out to dinner, we decided to take the kids with us.
Once we arrived at our destination, it was apparent that the parking situation sucked. Hungry and not wanting to be late for our reservation, we ended up parking in a grocery store lot with signs everywhere that clearly stated “Parking for Acme Customer’s Only. All Others Will Be Towed.”
“They won’t tow us.” said Brian
And then we got out of the car.
And then we all shit our pants.
Then we got back into the car and drove away.
But on our third twirl around the city streets, we realized that the tow truck wasn’t waiting for violators…it was there to help some poor humiliated fool….
(Of course, it had to be a blonde. Listen, if you’re always doing stupid shit, do me a favor and dye your hair brown. I’m tired of the stigma.)
So then we drove back into the Acme parking lot, and I vowed to buy toilet paper after dinner…just in case Karma was listening.
It was a beautiful restaurant, very posh, very urban, very NOT KID FRIENDLY. How do I know this? Well…
1. When we walked in, a patron paused mid dirty joke, took one look at our kids and said “That’ll be a $5 cover charge.” while another diner mumbled, “Great, there goes ‘Happy Hour’.” (yes, he used air quotes)
2. When ordering:
Me to waiter: “Do you have a kid’s menu?”
Waiter: “No.”
Me: “Um…ooookay…she’ll have the Kobe sausage on some sort of bread shaped into a bun, with ketchup instead of mustard aoili, and a side of Duck Fries without the duck. Oh, And a small milk.”
Waiter: “I’m not sure we have milk, but I’ll check.”
Me: “If not, just bring her some coffee creamer and I’ll dilute it with the $10 artesian spring water.”
I should have memorized my friend Jenn’s (somethingclever2point0.com) “Should I Bring My Baby to This Restaurant” Flow Chart. Read it, save yourself from being “those assholes”.
On Saturday, I put on a new pair of yoga pants…and to my horror I realized that they required a considerable amount of leg shaving above the ankle. Something I wasn’t prepared for this early in the season.
For a moment, I considered shaving just between the lines, but then I was like “Candy Ass (positive self-talk), don’t be so goddamn lazy.” I ended up doing the whole rectangular area.
After the gym, we drove around the neighborhood for a good 15 minutes, waiting for the Jehovah’s Witnesses to pass our house.
When we arrived home, I found myself staring at the staple in Ana’s head…
Yes, I was given strict instructions to take the staple remover tool to her follow-up doctor’s appointment for “staple removal”, but as a crafter and hardcore DIY-er, I couldn’t help but think “How hard can it be?” And after watching a 1:53 minute YouTube video, I felt completely qualified.
This won’t hurt a bit, I bet my dead cat’s life on it.
No sooner did I have it pulled out…”ding-dong”. It was the missionary. Apparently, he was making a second pass.
On Sunday, we played a game of 4-square in our driveway while Brian bitched about no one following the rules, like he’s on a 4-Square League or something. Then we took a family walk to the park.
Look at that outfit. It practically screams “Hooray! My mom no longer gives a shit!”
Upon returning home, I made a healthy & delicious meal for my family, including this homemade pesto that I blended myself….
Want to know what the secret ingredient is? Wooden spoon.
Seeing as it had a tip prior to going into the blender, it was most likely pureed.
Of course, I served it to my family without telling them, they’d never eat it if I did. Besides, they need their fiber.
Throughout the meal, Brian kept saying things about my pesto, like “It’s missing an ingredient.” and “It needs something else.” So I kept replying with things like “Oh, yeah? What WOOD that be?” and “Really? I WOODEN think so.” Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to appreciate my cleverness, so all I could do was to laugh on the inside…and not eat the pesto.
How was your weekend?
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