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Our First (and Last) Fine Dining Experience

Friday, July 31, 2020

Hubby, our toddler, and I ended up in a British restaurant in Florida by accident. I didn't know such things existed in the U.S. We didn't know it was British. We just thought the place was neat looking on the outside, rustic and casual, and we ended up...............with our own waiter. LOL. So not casual, so not us. The experience was horrible, in fact.

Ian had just turned 3 while we were in Florida. Remember what a 2-3 year old is like? They served crusty bread and Ian wanted it immediately and denying him it would have caused blood curdling screams. He had crumbs slung for 3 miles and our personal waiter was kept busy cleaning up with his personal handheld whisk broom set and his floor whisk broom set. Cleaning Ian up was a massive endeavor.

I wanted a piece of bread too because this was the kind of place where you would eventually expire before you had the opportunity to eat any real food so I risked it and my "ample hooter shelf" was crumb covered too. I could tell by hubby's sour expression that he was not pleased. Our personal waiter excused himself briefly - I'm sure to get more crumb tools - and hubby leaned in and whispered, " OMG!!! What the ---- kind of place is this?!!! If this freak whisk brooms your "chest" I'm going to grab his furry arm and break it!" My response, "Let's just try to get through this without a scene." A great option if Ian hadn't been with us.

Whisk Broomy came back with......... more bread. Oh h---! He then asked me, "Would Master Ian like more bread?" (No he is wearing enough already.) Ian had a horrible look on his face and looked at me and his dad and screamed. "Mastard?? I am NOT a MASTARD!!!!" Ian promptly started to squall and I tried to calm him down and explain that a Master was a young boy and he believed it about the same as he did the Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy crap and told me that my explanation was "Dickulous!!" (His favorite word at that time which stood for ridiculous.) Ian stated that his grandpa talked about Mastards a lot and that they were BAD!! Thanks, Dad!!

Broomhilda had left again and Hubby, through gritted teeth, said, "You and your superior DNA and gigantic brain. Ian could have taken after my side of the family and could have been happy sitting in a diaper full of p--- staring at the tablecloth until he was 20 but, no. And to think, I couldn't wait for him to talk!!!!! Do you think I could give this dorky waiter $20 and he would leave us alone??? Is this SOB going to eat with us???!!! Is this meal going to be the equivalent of a house payment?" I stammered, " How do I know!! I've never eaten at a place like this before!"

The meal was okay. Typical British fair. Ample slab of well cooked beef with Yorkshire pudding. I don't remember much else. My focus was on getting out of there without being arrested. It wasn't that expensive - they may have given us some kind of redneck moron discount for all I know. We were definitely the entertainment. When we were slinking out Ian announced that he preferred McDonald's. (Ronald told him on T.V. that McDonald's was for him. ) His dad, who thinks McDonald's is the human equivalent of dog food, agreed.
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