Wednesday, June 11, 2014
They resembled those couples you see on TV commercials, the ones that promote life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness all thanks to a little pill. Should your quest for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness last longer than four hours, you should seek medical help immediately. Of course, I had no choice but to take an immediate dislike to them.
It happened at a restaurant that Mr. Newman and I enjoy on a regular basis. It promotes a special each week called ‘Amore Monday’ – three courses at incredibly discounted prices. Our couple in question, however, took the term literally, for such displays of PDA I hadn’t seen since I cancelled our Cinemax subscription years ago.
They sat on the same side of the booth, and had she’d been any closer to him, she would have been behind him. Roaming hands, repeated kisses – it was quite a show, but not in a good way. I (almost) couldn’t finish my manicotti, and you can forget about me focusing on any sort of dinner conversation with my better half. It had been a while since we’d been to dinner and a show, and even though it was a horror show, we couldn’t wait for the next act.
He whispered something in her ear, and she chuckled in between gulps of beer that she swigged straight out of the bottle. Okay, so maybe they weren’t exact replicas of the happy couples in those commercials.
Their check arrived and a dispute with their waiter followed. Perhaps what they ordered hadn’t actually been part of the ‘Amore Monday’ special. Perhaps she only drank four beers but was charged for five. Or maybe the restaurant charged them a ‘Get a Room Because You’re Grossing Out the Other Patrons Fee’ that’s not noted on the menu.
I don’t know how the disagreement was settled because dessert arrived, and this place makes a butter cake that you would not believe, Gentle Reader. It’s a pretty presentation, too, or it was until Mr. Newman helped himself to a bite, knocked it on its side, and smeared the fruit topping all over the plate.
Anyway, by the time I’d regained my composure over blatant cake abuse, the couple had left. I’m assuming together, but you never know about these things now, do you?
On the drive home, I pondered their story. Could they have been celebrating an anniversary? Could they have rekindled a spark that had disappeared for a while? Were they bonding over a happy or tragic situation?
My guess, though, is that they were simply hammered.