Last night we were watching Gordon Ramsay's F-Word on Tivo. I asked my husband if he had made reservations at Ramsay's new restaurant in NY for my brthday in January. There was a brief silence.
He stared intently at the television set. "Well no, I didn't make the reservation because you were waffling."
"I was waffling?"
"Yes, you were waffling. I wasn't sure whether or not you really wanted to eat there so I haven't tried to make a reservation." I should note that I was only waffling because he tried to talk me out of going there, not because I didn't want to go. He didn't succeed in convincing me to change my mind but he conveniently seems to have forgotten that part of the conversation. He gave me the puppy dog face. "You didn't even give me a back-up choice."
" Oh really, well the back up is Per Se, although that doesn't help you very much now. You'd better get on it. It's my 34th birthday and they're all big ones now."
He stared at me incredulously for a moment. "Really? You're going to be 34?" I should note that we've been married for over six years and he knew how old I was when I married him.
He slumped over and sighed. "That's just depressing."
Depressing indeed, I think he owes me two birthday dinners now.
