This may come as a complete shock with how I really don’t like the human race, but I actually went out last night. Let that sink in for a moment. Honestly, the only reason was my spouse’s birthday. That’s love, friends. I stepped out of my comfort zone while risking my health from that pesky little virus traipsing around like a cheap floozy.
We ended up at Buca di Beppo with some of Brian’s family. I have not eaten inside of a restaurant in six months. I have eaten outside, but inside felt like a petri dish and I would prefer to not get mixed up with that shit. But, this is what marriage looks like. Putting your life on the line for those you love. Anyway, we sat at what they call the “Pope’s Table” where a bust of the Pope resides on a lazy Susan. Since there is a cap on the capacity of customers, it was pleasantly quiet and, we were in our own little corner of the restaurant. This made avoiding other people a lot easier. Winning.
Then came the portion of the night where they brought Brian his celebratory dessert. When they placed it in front of him, I cocked my head in a fit of confusion. You see, it was a scoop of vanilla ice cream with, wait for it, sprinkles. For a fifty-two-year old man. WTAF?? Why am I surprised? This is 2020. He passed on his tempting dessert to Bailey who proceeded to share it with our great-nephew, Taylor. At least those two were pleased with its presence.
So, there you have it. I left the safety of my home in an effort to celebrate my spouse making it another year. I hope he remembers the sacrifice I made. If he doesn’t, I will be sure to remind him for the rest of our lives. It’s the least I can do.
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