side-splitting (m)

I get a call from T's best friend, Michael.  "We have two extra tickets to the Andrea Bocelli concert on Sunday.  We'd love for you to join us."

This is my busy season.  I have a house to decorate inside and out.  Gifts to buy, wrap and distribute.  Cards to write. Leaves to rake (at my mother's).  Elderly folks to get to doctors (the aunts).  Out of state games to watch (Sam's).  And two big projects to wrap up by the end of this week (one of which requires me to read a book about the person I'm interviewing on Thursday).  As my friend Mary says, "You go underground every time this year."  I suppose I do.

But I'm never too busy for Andrea Bocelli.

Michael decides we should "do it up" and have dinner first at a nice restaurant.  Ugh.  I'm not up the curve yet with this new point system (which I despise) and now I get thrown into the deep end...dinner out with people.

We arrive at the restaurant near the theater district and T drops me off while he parks the car.  I'm the first of our party so I have time to people watch.  The holiday revelers are there for dinner and a show, festooned in reds and sporting brooches with snowflakes, Santa Claus, etc.  I am under dressed but confident I have more taste.

Michael and his wife Betsy arrive shortly thereafter.  Betsy is thin.  Her weight goes up and down by 40 pounds and it's clearly down.  She has a wedding to attend in Chicago on New Year's Day (why do people do that?) and has been starving herself.  She's wearing a beautiful black skirt and heels.  I'm in black slacks and walking shoes (patent leather so I don't look like something from the Jerry Lewis Telethon).

The restaurant specializes in steaks.  I open the menu.  Page 1-alcohol.  Page 2-more alcohol.  Page 3-are you kidding me?  More alcohol.  I decide I got the beverage list.  I ask the waiter for the food menu.  He takes the thing I've been looking at and points to Pages 4-5.  "Here you go, Madam."  I don't know if I was more ticked off that the food was buried or that the punk called me Madam which sounded like Grandma Bitch to me.

Michael and Betsy order wine.  Again with the alcohol.  We are operating under tight timing--one hour to do this dinner before the theater and so far, we've spent all this time looking at and discussing alcohol--which I'm not having.  There's not even a bread basket on the table.  I'm doing a slow burn.  "Red or white?"  Michael asks.  "Neither.  I don't drink," I say.  He and Betsy decide on red.  T just has water.  The waiter helps them with a selection.  The wine arrives, 10 seconds to sniff and sip and then we order the food.

None of the fish items appeal to me.  I'm not a steak person.  I order the tuna.  The other three have steak.

Now, the hard part.  This is one of those places where the side dishes are enormous and meant to be shared.

For perspective, Betsy and Michael are two of the easiest-going people I know.  We've gone on vacations to Europe with them.  We've shared cabins in Maine with no electricity or running water.  We've spent almost every Caribbean vacation with them.  We've never had a problem agreeing on anything.

Until now.

Michael-How about asparagus?
Me-I don't like asparagus.
Betsy-I love it but it makes your urine smell and I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow.
Michael-Okay, how about carrots?
Betsy-Cooked carrots have alot of sugar.  I can't have that, Michael.
Michael-Brussel sprouts?
All-No! Gives us gas. We'll be up all night.
Me-What about mushrooms?
T-I don't eat mushrooms, but you guys can get them. 
Me-Don't they have broccoli?
Michael-Okay, look, we're never going to make this concert if we don't decide.  Let's get the mushrooms and the onion rings/fries.
T-(turning to me).  You eat the mushrooms, we'll have the fries and onion rings.

The waiter looks relieved.  The four of us start laughing.  When did we get so difficult?

Maybe it's age, we decided.  We know what works for us and what doesn't and we're not afraid to speak up.

I liked it better when we just went with the flow.