Eight for Dinner

Last Edit September 2, 1999

We are eight. And we are at Red Lobster again. We should be 10 or 9 but 8 will do.
My pink regency gown is a source of hilarity - I will look like a pink puffball - I need to remove fabric from the back. Come to think of it, I had added fabric there. Something about falling off the diet track and gaining an inch or two... Although people keep saying that I am thinner. I can wear size S pants although M is more comfortable. And a size 14 top. Better than the 2X I was in. Not too bad for an old bat.
After the removal (take off skirt, reseam the skirt, put skirt back on), I need to add elastic and the roses and roll with it. Whatever.
No hat - down to pearl combs.
Gloves, shoes (satin with soutache) and I might break down and do the reticule, find a fan. The fan is last and I may forgo it.
It's OK.
2 weeks to go. Janice is behind me! She still has raw edges. I at least have a hem - sewn in by machine or not! Too bad I haven't mastered the serger! It would have been useful.. Oh well, there's next year.
It should be a fun costume affair at the Romantic Times convention.
I spent the weekend sorting taxes (done - just not listed yet) and sewing and cleaning and swimming and seeing "sixth sense" - good movie!
I am out of humor. I need to root around in the attic for 1996 tax returns to complete the refinancing of the other house. And I need to go fetch the suitcases and decide how much of a pack mule I will be for the trip.
I just put them up there from the last trip!
And, I have been raided by my older son who is camping in the desert - having raided my camping supplies from my Boy Scout activities - my new stuff! Some with the stickers still on them!
He has promised to return them.
He went to Burning Man. I lent him dishes, stove, lantern, ice chest, storage box, and an earring. He had to do without the pale colored dress - I don't own one.
Today is the day I bit the bullet and bought the two Apple G3 minitowers. 400MHz for him (the young one "I am in college and you promised") and 450MHz for me ("I'm the Mommy, got to love me"). And a 21" monitor for me too. Got to do page layout.
I am still gasping for breath. I refuse to look at the total. (Not as much as Fabio cost me).
My accountant and financial people gave me permission.
So, Red Lobster is a party tonight.
I intend to launch Jettison, my science fiction novel, as a self-published POD (print on demand) advertised in Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble.com and BDalton.com.
And even agents like the cookbook idea.
On a roll.
I like MasterCook - looks useful.
Turns out Dan and Kathy use the same software - great! I need look no further for software. See how easy research is! Kathy is doing a renaissance cookbook. Among others.
I spend the time scribbling about the computer saga.
They have begun the crab assault. Trays and trays heaped with crab. Crab by the ton at our table. A big round table - which means platters in the center for shells. And lots of room. I surround myself with empty chairs. Barricade.
The shells of course skitter on the platters and slide off. Or bounce.
Turns out a few of them were aiming. Took awhile for me to notice.
I moved my coffee.
Shells bounce.
Crabs legs were even delivered in a plastic bag!
Was this an added feature??
No, an accident! They have the crab legs portioned out in bags and they cook them in the bags. This reduces the salt and also allows faster service. But it is supposed to be removed! We chide our manager about this!
I finally throw some shells back - they are staining my notebook. They have, so far, missed the coffee cup. If this were basketball, they would be the losing team.
The table is a littered mess. However, we are nice. We stop and clean up periodically.
Any that hit me are immediately airborne.
Self defense.
Dan was expostulating with a crab hand - a set of legs that allowed him to pretend to be Edward Scissorhands.
Silliness has set in.
We complain loudly - they haven't asked us to sing - happy birthday for awhile.
Zing!
More shells.
They are moving fast.
We razz a new waitress, i.e., server, complain we have not sung. She laughs, and goes off to sing at a table.
Bad move.
WE watch for the next birthday. We sing loudly - without getting up. We even create our own key. Special.
This causes a few stares. Regulars know about us.
By this time a mountain of crab has been delivered and consumed.
Scott has quit. I didn't realize he was a virgin - first time crab eater. He says, "Gee. Say it louder."
So we do.
We chant it. Just for him.
He is now beet red.
Crab is still flying - still skittering off the platters.
We have a European crab - it didn't shave!
(Bad joke! We scold the author.)
I am out of coffee.
Egad! Time to hold the cup high and wave it wildly back and forth.
A chorus goes up.
Kelly is ready to go into hiding.
We are still eating. Last week they stopped just before King Crab came out.
This is a strong motivator.
The hairy crab leg has elicited a score of bad jokes. This leads to obscure references to a French tickler. Cold meat. Downhill from there.
We are cleaning up the table again.
Needs a snow shovel.
They discuss this.
I will get leftovers. Stir-fry again.
The cats have their film case treats.
The bathroom brigade has started. Crab evidently moves fast.
Another 10PM late show.
Another tray arrives. Two or three are still eating! Kelly made a fresh pot of decaf.
Now I don't get two sips before I am refilled! Lest we wave the cup again.
Crab-onion-egg omelet - a recipe idea. Sounds good. I'll have to try that. I like lemon-pepper stir-fry.
We try calculating - have we hit 75 yet? The record? We set the record.
Dan pronounces that he doesn't like cold meat or the French tickler.
Cindy is peeling "sperms" - crab claws produce these blobs of meat with a little tail. Wiggles.
We ask for a cat dish (take home).
Dan has fugued out and is watching Marc put it away. I remember the night we taught Marc to eat crab. Now he comes in and is a steady engine. Marc is down to the salty ones. Salty crab is a bit rough.
The floor under the able is also a mess and we notice how conveniently the carpet sweeper is located next to our table.
They knew.
Wet naps are airborne as we try to mop up. And render the table just a little less messy.
The camera is out - and goes around the table - Round Robin.
The trays and plates have been picked up so now it's spin the silverware.
Some are having desert! They twist my arm. Because of my son's resistance to sharing, I have this small amount of lethal brownie. Child's portion.
I tip well and we discuss this. Some nights the servers don't make much. We are about the biggest event. And our server has to work hard - hustle. Because these guys are fast. We appreciate that. You should let people know when they do well.
We also help out. We insist on passing plates around instead of making them walk around the table. We hand things off. Just like a family dinner. Homey.
Works at work. Works at play.
The soda has reached the limit - eyeballs are floating. Mine are suffering from the smog and too much coffee - decaf or no.
Probably the cafe mocha I had after ordering the G3s had something to do with it.
The deserts arrive.
My son cannot finish his! (Never tempt me like that!)
Afterward Cindy's fiance and Dan reduce her to hysteria by trying to remove spots from her pants. Well, Dan stayed at her knees. She gets redder than Scott does. Time to put the cat out!
We get the bill. Or I do. The thing is long. Kathy adds it up. It is a point of honor.
We broke the record! 96 clusters! Why am I not surprised.
I will now waddle out to the truck and take my child home and crash. The cats had better settle down early tonight!
After they get their crabmeat of course!