This is the twenty-fourth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, and Part XXIII before continuing.
One of the perks to going to school in a big city is the fact that the restaurant Owen’s dad wanted to go to for his birthday was closer to campus than to Owen’s parents’ house. All Owen and I had to do was walk over and meet them.
I didn’t want to be one of those girls who makes everyone wait for them while they get dressed, but I did want to look nice. When I asked Owen if the restaurant had a dress code, he just shrugged his shoulders. It must be so easy for men not having to worry about what they wear. They can show up in a T-shirt and jeans and get in almost anywhere.
“How fancy is it?”
“Moderately fancy.”
That had been the wrong question to ask. There was no way that Owen’s idea of “moderately fancy” was the same as my idea of “moderately fancy.”
I decided to play it safe and dress up. Not my nicest clothes, but maybe one step down.
As soon as we walked in the door, I realized I had made the right call. The place had valet parking, a podium for the maitre d’, a bar stacked with bottles labeled with names I didn’t even recognize, and a tank with real, live lobsters in it. “Is this one of those places where you pick out your own lobster?” I asked Owen as we waited for his family to show up.
He wrinkled his brow. “Dunno. We’ve never been allowed to order the lobster.”
Oh. So we were at a nice restaurant, but there were things we were not allowed to order. That wouldn’t be at all confusing.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that was confusing. Once Owen’s family arrived and we were seated at our table, I found myself staring at the array of silverware laid out before us. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I knew what to do when there were two forks next to the plate, but this had the two forks, plus the smallest fork I had ever seen laid horizontally above the plate. I thought it was so cute, I immediately picked mine up and showed it to everyone, “Look at how tiny this fork is!”
They all looked at me like those awful women in the first clothing store had looked at Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Like I didn’t belong.
“It’s an oyster fork,” Glenda said. “You use it to separate the oyster from the shell.”
“I’ve just never seen a fork so small before,” I said, trying to recover.
“Just don’t start combing your hair with it,” Glenda said before turning back to her menu.
To be continued…