I knew The Husband would order either blue cheese or ranch, but then he surprised me by asking the girl what the other choices were.“Well, we have Italian, honey vinaigrette, TV, twitter, Facebook, and voice mail.”
The Husband looked just as surprised as I was: who offers voice mail for dressing?I jumped in and answered for him. “No dressing. We’ll have a couple of slices of lemon on the side.”
I could tell that the girl thought I was rude for not giving The Husband a chance to respond. But then, the waitress wasn’t tipping me, was she?As I looked around the new restaurant (called “Strangely Enough”), I realized most of the diners had selected the other dressings. Some were even having them for their main course.
I was mentally congratulating myself that the kids were keeping busy drawing elaborate Crayola cities on their paper placemats when The Husband confided, “I might have a piece of email for dessert later.”I glared at The Husband. “You had some email for a snack before we even left the house. Besides, I didn’t see it on the menu.”
“You should talk. How are you even hungry after you filled up on blogs all afternoon?”Right then, the busboy appeared to refill our water glasses. “Do you need more email, sir?”
“I didn’t order email, but do you offer it for dessert?” he asked, eager for the chance to clarify.“Let me get your server.”
A few minutes later, the waitress came back, her tray weighted down with items. “One order of Angry Birds, and who had Words With Friends?”A man at the next table flagged her down. “Miss, that’s our order!”
The kids looked up wistfully as the waitress walked off with things they didn’t even know were options. “That’s what I’m having next time,” Tall whispered to Short.“No, you’re not,” I interrupted. “We’re just going to have grilled chicken with broccoli and call it a night.”
“Everyone else has better stuff than us,” observed Short. “Why don’t we have YouTube?”I just wanted a simple meal, a meal without media. But we were surrounded. I decided that next time, we’d eat the old-fashioned way, the same way people have for decades before us: in the car.