I Pity the Fool Who Doesn’t Realize We’re Good Tippers
The hubby and I went to dinner last night while our manny babysat. We haven’t been on a true date since before the holidays. Quite frankly my company dinner in early December doesn’t qualify since standing in a buffet line with one’s co-workers and fighting over the table decorations slash door prizes from Staples doesn’t exactly scream “romantic evening out.”
We chose a restaurant that is close to home. We’ve been there before and the food was fabulous. We sat next to a roaring fire and the Pro Bowl was on the TV in the bar. It was a lovely evening overall but unfortunately our server pegged us as the “married couple out on a rare date night and thrilled to be dining at an establishment devoid of air hockey and bendy straws.” He was correct. However he then proceeded to do a pretty lame ass job of waiting on us.
Little did he know that the hubby tended bar for eight years and is a most excellent tipper.
Idiot.
Any way we took our traveling suburban couple on the loose roadshow down the road to a nice Italian neighborhood restaurant for dessert and after-dinner drinks. Of course on the way we made the obligatory pit stop at Walgreens as we can’t seem to do a date night without stopping for antacid or eye drops or some other geriatric product with soothing qualities.
We pulled in the driveway at the decadent hour of 9:25 p.m. and tiptoed quietly through the back doorway. We were met with silence and for about five seconds I thought that miraculously both girls might actually be tucked in bed and soundly sleeping. But then I then heard my dad say “Oh yes! I’d love another drink! Why thank you!” followed by the gurgling sound of the girls’ pink plastic toy coffee maker. Apparently they watched Barbie’s “Princess and the Pauper” twice. That in and of itself warrants a Manny of the Year Award.
