The 5-Star Dinner

Last Edit September 2, 1998

How do you end such a weekend?
A 5-star restaurant, of course.
A maitre d' took photos of the three of us. Obliging.
He wanted to know what we were celebrating.
We told him of my insanity.
He offered to stay the night and redo my bathroom. "How do you want those hedges trimmed?" for that amount.
And anything else I might want.
Considering my non-functioning bathroom, I had to think about this.
Our waiter, who was also informed, (we considered using the PA system) handled us with great care. Pouring water in an arc with a florish and never missing a drop. Nice touch.
Snapping out napkins and draping them into our laps with a flourish.
You need to remember that I am a single mom with two boys for whom a trip to MacDonald's was a night out. Red Lobster was for special occasions. At lunchtime.
He was very helpful in keeping carbs off my plate. Recommending what I could eat and stay on the Medifast rules.
He was attentive.
Helpful.
Nice boy.
I indulged in a glass of champagne. I had offered to open a bottle of Dom Perion but the others weren't drinking and it would have been too much for me. My almost-seventeen had only given me permission for one glass of wine.
We ended the meal with Cappuccino - the best one I ever had. I was tempted. I did have a decaf version. But I am sure the dairy fat was in there.
They brought sugar swizzles. My son loves these. I use a substitute. The waiter provided extras and a baggy.
Attentive boy.
Then came desert.
A touch of pecan. A bite of brownie. I broke. I did indulge. I succumbed. I love pecan stuff. But I was trying. I had a bite. Not all the brownie. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
We each got yellow roses. Long stemmed.
Nice touch.
Go with my two red ones.
Fabio's is still upright. The other is drooping.
It's OK - they will all become porpourri in the end.
My companions are miffed. I have two red ones - they each only have one. I win.
We tip nicely - I appreciate nice lads.
He invites us back.
He's not alone. "Make-A-Wish" has my phone number.
We stagger off - it's almost over.
Hysteria will rein tomorrow.
We are plotting my wardrobe for October.
I've having my face fixed.
I'm calling the dentist.
I'm cleaning myself up, dusting myself off.
I'm calling my hairdresser.
Maybe burgundy is too much.
And, if Fabio goes up on the auction block next year, I will plan to outbid them all.
So much for retirement.