babybloomr

Last night I sat at an almost too-small table, in a so-dark-that-I-defy-you-to-read-the-menu-without-resorting-to-picking-up-the-votive-candle-and-using-it-as-a-flashlight restaurant that was filled with milling twenty-somethings crowding into the bar area, all talking at once. Really loudly. You know, my usual kind of Friday night hang-out. Because I’m hip like that.

Actually, my friend Lynnie and I (btw, I’m the only person I know in the world who calls her ‘Lynnie’, so we’ll pretend that’s a pseudonym to protect her privacy *snort*) had actually pulled off a night out together, and we were so giddy with our unaccustomed freedom that we rashly thought ‘Rumba’ (although I think it’s actually spelled in all lower-case, like ‘rumba’– because, hello, HIPPER THAT WAY) sounded like a fun place for dinner. Which turned out it was, but seriously? The noise factor was formidable. By the end of the evening we were virtually shouting our innermost thoughts across the table at each other, which was fine because the twenty-somethings surrounding us on all sides were inexplicably not that interested in eavesdropping on two middle aged women sharing secrets and conch fritters. Their loss.

There’s nothing like dinner out with a girlfriend. Sometimes all of the D-Day at Normandy Beach-type planning it takes to actually put together a little outing like this can almost feel like more trouble than it’s worth. I mean, Lynnie and I talk on the phone every single day, it’s not like we really need to go out so we can catch up with each other. But when I do push through my initial hesitation and make it happen, it is always so worth it. Which brings me to the subject of this lecture:

Top Ten Reasons Going Out With Your Girfriend(s) Is Better Than Going Out With Your Husband

#10– No arguing about valet parking. Husbands usually see no point in having to tip some guy to park your car when you can just as easily pull it into a parking space your own self. Women, of course, know better.

#9– Girlfriends know that the restaurant selection is not only crucial to the tone of the evening, they also understand that it is part of the entire Going Out To Eat experience. Kinda like foreplay. Suggestions must be mulled over, discussed and eventually culled down to about two or three, and then there will be a minimum five minute Final-Decision Period which basically consists of both of you taking turns saying, “Either one of those sounds fine, you decide.” Husbands’ criteria is usually more linear, more like, “Which one is closer?” “Which one can we get in and out of faster?” and “Whatever.”

#8– Your footwear choice for the evening will be noticed and complimented.

#7– With a girlfriend, seating placement is key. A cozy booth is preferable if possible, because you want to be out of the main thoroughfare but not so tucked away that your waiter can ignore you. You want to be able to see other diners coming and going so you can comment on them, but you don’t want to be so visible that the fact that you are taking a ridiculously long time to eat will be noticed by the people waiting for a table and they will be able to shoot you dirty looks while pointedly checking their watches. Because really, who needs that?  Husbands usually do not care about any of this, they just want to know where the restrooms are, then they’re good to go.

#6– You have the option of either talking about serious, life-altering issues or rambling on and on about nothing in particular. You may also get earnest and teary at one point in the conversation and then be laughing really loudly (which may or may not have something to do with that second glass of pinot grigio) five minutes later and your dinner partner will not begin rubbing their temples and looking as if they are developing a migraine.

#5–When you are at dinner with a girlfriend, that usually means that your husband is home with the kids, which usually means that he views you a little differently when you come home. Like, with dewy grateful eyes as the full realization of just what it takes to run this asylum dawns on him. OK, that has never actually happened to me. I come home to dirty dishes in the sink and nobody remembered to water the garden. But I’m not completely giving up on this one.

#4– It is inately understood that though about 90% of the evening’s conversation will be about other people’s lives, it is not ‘gossiping.’ ‘Gossip’ is a sexist term they use in sitcoms, it’s what the Desperate Housewives do over coffee and danish at Bree’s house. What we are doing is sharing and clarifying and exchanging information about people we know. Bless their hearts.

#3– You don’t have to listen to your husband talk about work, unless you really want to.

#2– It seems perfectly normal that it takes three return trips from the waiter before you have sufficiently settled in, exchanged greetings, looked over and discussed the menu choices and are now maybe ready to order your appetizer.

 And the #1 reason going out with your girlfriend(s) is better than going out with your husband?

You get to bitch about your husbands!

Thank you all for coming.  *bows deeply*

Well, you guys were all so articulate and thought-provoking with your Deep Thoughts Answers that I toyed with the idea of introducing another Deep Topic…  But then I realized, A) didn’t have one and B) I don’t want to set up unrealistic expectations. What if you started coming here all the time expecting me to be all esoteric and literate and whatnot? I mean, I can pull off pretentious on an intermittent basis, but not as a regular diet. Sheesh.

So– back to dog pee stories! (Kidding. Pip the Squeak hasn’t lost his manners directly in front of the doggie door for almost a week. I think he joined a support group of some kind. He is sitting beside me as I write this, all five manly pounds of him, basking in my approval. Now if I could only get him to stop compulsively licking his paws, then he’d be the perfect man. Oh yeah, and he’s already neutered too, so he’s got that going for him.)

  I just realized that I never posted any photos of the last day of Madi’s Nothing-Says-Sweet-Sixteen-Like-A-Road-Trip-With-Your-Mom foray into Kentucky, more specifically our day at Pleasant Hill Shaker Village. So, here’s a few:   Madi standing in front of a reproduction Shaker furniture showroom wearing authentic Shaker garb. If you were like, kind of a hoochie Shaker.

This is where the Shakers held their church services. A very talented African American woman in a Shaker costume explained all about their worship, and sang some of their songs a capella in a big booming voice that rang through the room. Which for some reason freaked Madi out. She kept kicking me with her foot and stage-whispering, “How much longer?” I have no idea what prompted that reaction, Lord knows that child is used to big booming voices. Maybe she thought they were going to ask for volunteers from the audience to start shaking, or something. And you know I would have made her raise her hand. FYI– those benches? Not comfortable.  

They raised all of their own food, and here is their barn and garden. Which totally makes my garden look like a little punk.

Here’s a photo series I like to call, “What Won’t A Shaker Goat Eat?” Answer: Only Madi, everything else is fair game.

  These are interior shots from the buildings. OK, here’s what I don’t get: If they required celibacy from their members, and the men and women lived completely separately, where did they think the new crop of Shakers was going to come from? I guess by conversion, but come on, that whole celibacy/work from sun-up to sundown thing would have been a hard sell. Not to mention their clothing options, which were frankly so butt-ugly that it probably made celibacy a lot easier. Anyway. *shakes head to clear it* They did make some lovely furniture. And shoes.  Their clothing storage room was almost enough to make me convert on the spot. Come on, a closet with a SKYLIGHT? I’m all over that. 

We leave Shaker Village behind with these two parting shots– a lovely lane, and my sweet 16 year old swinging in the rain.