A night out on the town

POB (partner of blogger) and I went out to dinner with the parents of SOS’s (our son, source of sanity’s) betrothed.  As a couple, they are our MT (machertunim, a Yiddish term for the relationship between the parents of the married couple).  For the record, HMT (husband MT) finally went to WMT’s (wife MT’s) hairstylist, and he looks younger and fabulous (said with that sing-song falsetto).  Why didn’t he go sooner, you ask?  WMT wants to know, too.  But I digress. . . .

We met at an Indian restaurants in the west 20’s.  It used to be a club/late night lounge.  You can just tell by the layout, and by the incongruous clubby music playing ever so quietly in the large entryway and bar and lounge area.  In the restaurant, it was more traditional.  It was definitely a “fusion” of some sort.

It was an odd place.

The sommeliere brought out the bottle, tasted it first, then poured more in her glass and took a second swig (hey, she may need that extra swig just to get through the pomp and ceremony in front of us, the philistines).  The rest was more traditional — she poured more in the glass and proceeded to coat each glass and the decanter.  Then she poured for HMT to approve.  If, after all of that, HMT sent back the wine, she would have spit in the next bottle. I was tempted to test my theory, but the place was already a little disorienting.  Also, the sommeliere spoke heavily Japanese-accented English, in an otherwise heavily Indian-accented environment AND we were drinking Spanish wine.  No wonder my stomach felt like a UN general assembly meeting.

Anyway, it was fancy and expensive enough to have microscopic portions, so as POB and WMT talked, HMT and I kept grabbing at any extra morsel.  I leaned over at one point, and said, “you eatin’ that?” while pointing to something already on his fork. You understand why POB and I don’t go out much.

Before we ordered dinner WMT excused herself to the women’s room.  When she returned, she said, “[Blogger], there is a comfy couch outside the restrooms that looks perfect for you!!” (She knows that, on the weekends, I will nap on her granite counter if that is my only opportunity for a little extra snoooooze time.)

POB visited the women’s room and upon her return, noted that a couple was chatting on the couch. 

MY couch?  The one that was going to host my pre-dessert power nap?  Whaaaaat?

I needed to go investigate.  Everyone at the table made me promise I wouldn’t ask them to stand so I could test out the couch.  We made eye contact and smiled.  They didn’t look so happy or so into each other.  And she was sitting uncomfortably (maybe it was the hue of her red dress?) as the man (who could have been better dressed) slouched somewhat dejectedly.  Still he has time to check his smartphone incessantly.

Since we are all in our forties, even HMT could not last without a trip to the men’s room before dessert.  Upon his return, he confirmed that they were still there.  We ordered and ate two courses and the wine ceremony and they were still there!!

HMT recognized the couple as having been seated when we arrived.  The young man gave the young woman a necklace.   I confirmed that the woman definitely wasn’t wearing a necklace around her plunging neckline.  Were they breaking up?  Did the necklace just not fit?  Why were they hanging out in the lounge in front of the restrooms in an Indian restaurant in the West 20s, after they have already paid and their table was re-set?

So many questions and I needed answers; too many people (POB, HMT and WMT)  restraining me as they escorted me out of the restaurant.

ODD (and I am not just talking about me).