So this will be my final Valentine's Day /Month post this year. (Who said: "Thank Gd?") And you know why I've done so many. Because life has a way of wedging its way into our romance if we let it and infertility, with its blame, guilt, social stigmas, physical, mental, emotional, and financial tolls, is its own special crowbar all by itself.
These past weeks, I've been discussing how my husband and I have had a few lousy Valentine's dates (which were still exceedingly better than the decades of lousy dateless Valentine's Days and the lousy Valentine's dates I had before I met him.) In one post, I recounted a particular restaurant we went to with a sucky restaurateur. Well, the next year, since we'd liked it so much, we found another one.
I don't know about you, but I take eggplant parmigiana very seriously. I called up this restaurant two weeks before Valentine's Day to make reservations for the special day. We'd been there several times before and thought the food was pretty good. So, here we arrive, with eggplant parmigiana on the mind and we're handed a new, hot off the presses, one page menu that read like this: "Prosciutto something something we don't eat, with something something else we don't want, plus vegetable choice of cabbage or nothing." We called over the server: "We came here for the eggplant parmigiana. So where is it?" She explained that this was a "special" menu for Valentine's Day. It was an Italian restaurant with nothing on the menu with sauce.
It was a quaint restaurant where, if you didn't find the conversation at your table interesting, not to worry- one of the adjacent tables was bound to have something worth listening to. And so they did...
As my husband and I are scoping out the room, waiting for other Valentiners to be rolling their eyes and huffing in disdain upon perusing the menu so we could be among the first to jump onto the mob-mentality bandwagon, we couldn't help notice that our neighbors at table six were offered the grown-up menu: The one we usually get. And there they go rattling off their orders: Garlic knots, minestrone soup, eggplant parmigiana....
So I summon over the server, who, since I summoned her over with a different finger than is typically socially appropriate, summoned over the manager.
The manager stated that we had made reservations for Valentine's Day and what we got was the Valentine's Day menu. But the people who had no reservations could order whatever they wanted. Okay then. Well, we didn't want any of the entrees on the lush three entree menu and how is cabbage the "vegetable of the day?" It's half-assed coleslaw; tasteless at best, a room clearer at worst. So I repeated my mantra: "We came here for the eggplant parmigiana. So where is it??"
The manager went on and on about the chef's wife being pregnant and how they were down one cook so they basically pulled this short menu out of their collective asses because they couldn't handle the number of reservations made. Okay, so I quickly filed that whole rigmarole into my "W" file for "Who gives a ----?" and stuck with what I knew: "We came here for the eggplant parmigiana. So where is it???"
Finally we got the big people's menu. We spent twenty minutes scrutinizing it. We read everything from "Restaurant Hours" to the warning about under-cooked meat...Then we ordered the eggplant parmigiana.
And my husband and I left the restaurant hand in hand. And as I said in a previous post, that's the only part that ever really matters to me. And that brings us once again back to the reality of why we're here...the ol' infertility thing.
You enter into it hand in hand and together, go through mild annoyances, big nightmares, huge challenges. The trick is: No matter what happens while you're in that dark tunnel, you've got to make sure you're hand in hand when you come out the other side. Which you will. We all do eventually.
Thanks for stopping by. If you're not ready to laugh at your bout with infertility yet, feel free to laugh at mine. 4.5 stars /66 reviews. https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/ Also on Nook & Kobo.