We made the big decision to go out for dinner last night. What's so big about that? For one thing, my doctor advises I limit my exposure to the general public. Our last family dining experience (way back in February) was unappetizing from soup to nuts. In order to have a successful experience, we must wisely choose the restaurant, as one son is a vegetarian and the other worships meat. My husband and I are flexible, that is, we have been beaten down by failed attempts at making everybody happy, and really don't care what we eat as long as things go well. I'm even willing to dine in chain restaurants, although they tend to be crowded, a no-no for Ms. Compromised Immune System.
After carefully weighing all the factors, we opted to try a nearby Olive Garden. Marty and Harry did a reconnaissance mission to ascertain possible safety issues. Mark and I remained in the car awaiting our summons which arrived simultaneously via text message (teen to teen) and phone call (preferred old people method). The immune gods must have been smiling upon us because we were taken to a table tucked into a corner, far from the madding crowd. By all measures, the dinner was a success. The food was adequate and copious; the boys were in chatty upbeat moods (as opposed to sullen and/or critical); no one came within six feet of me. For dessert, we went home and called Mariel. She's looking at only three more weeks in Ecuador before she returns to life in Boring Rhode Island. Fortunately, Mariel is fairly accommodating when it comes to food. This is the girl who used to adore lengua en salsa (tongue) when we lived in Costa Rica, and who has recently had the opportunity to add guinea pig to her culinary resume.
May you only have happy meals.
After carefully weighing all the factors, we opted to try a nearby Olive Garden. Marty and Harry did a reconnaissance mission to ascertain possible safety issues. Mark and I remained in the car awaiting our summons which arrived simultaneously via text message (teen to teen) and phone call (preferred old people method). The immune gods must have been smiling upon us because we were taken to a table tucked into a corner, far from the madding crowd. By all measures, the dinner was a success. The food was adequate and copious; the boys were in chatty upbeat moods (as opposed to sullen and/or critical); no one came within six feet of me. For dessert, we went home and called Mariel. She's looking at only three more weeks in Ecuador before she returns to life in Boring Rhode Island. Fortunately, Mariel is fairly accommodating when it comes to food. This is the girl who used to adore lengua en salsa (tongue) when we lived in Costa Rica, and who has recently had the opportunity to add guinea pig to her culinary resume.
May you only have happy meals.
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