Family Restaurant

On our way out of a family restaurant recently, Daisy and Violet wanted to take a detour by the video game room. Because fun is my middle name, I was like, sure! Perfect opportunity to clean out my purse. As the girls stood on their tippy toes to play games they weren’t actually playing most of the time, I sorted my purse refuse into piles on the purple velvet couch cushion to my right.

A man appeared in a nearby chair. He had boys who joined my girls at the video games. As he chatted me up, I quietly put away my purse project. I am a strange mix of shy and social. I can talk to anyone about anything, and I can’t talk at all. I don’t know why certain situations make me feel so inhibited, but I know I don’t do pickup convos. If I even wonder if that’s what’s up, I sprint for the nearest exit.  

Of course, I couldn’t ditch the kids. And, who cares about what the other person’s intent is? I must strive to keep an open mind because what else is there. Anyway, the conversation warmed up a bit and he asked me where we live. When I told him, his response was enthusiastic as he identified his favorite local hangout.

I asked him what he liked to do there, and he pointed to the margarita sitting in front of him on the coffee table between us, “I like to drink. I fill up my cooler with alcohol, sit on the beach all day, and watch the guys play volleyball.”

Wow.

He added, “I watch the girls too.”

Great. I was so tempted to be like, Dude, let me give you some feedback. However, I think we can all agree his campaign of transparency is in the best interest of divorced mothers at family restaurants everywhere.

By the time he was describing his parents’ house in Hawaii, I was summoning the girls to escort me for a quick exit. Dear Guys Who Don’t Know, parents and parent homes are never impressive in the first conversation you have with a woman. Hawaii or no.