July 25, 2006

You MaybeBaby Seated

It was my mother’s birthday, and although she enjoys fine dining, she wanted to find a restaurant that would accommodate everyone from her daughter, the chef, to her grandson, the two year old. She chose a family style Italian place within walking distance of our Victorian. We arrived at the restaurant, and Megan, (now a solid 30 months pregnant) and I were the first in the door. We approached the receptionist and gave her the name of the reservation. Without looking up, she said, “We’re not ready for you. You have to wait outside.” “Can we wait in the lobby?” I inquired, moderately concerned that Megan’s baby could fall out at any time, and nobody wants to be born on a New Jersey sidewalk. “Nope” she responded, still not looking up, “You have to wait outside till we’re ready for you.” Had she looked up, she might have noticed the two empty chairs directly opposite her, which if occupied, would provide the perfect pedestals from which to fix upon her a steely glare. Megan and I most certainly did. Not more than a few moments later the receptionist felt the four holes burning into the top of her head. At long last, she looked up at the 36 months pregnant woman and the overly protective sister she’d ordered to leave the building. With a speed I wouldn’t have previously thought possible, she assessed the situation and said somewhat meekly “Your table is ready”.