Examples As To Why My Family Is Slowly Being Banned from All Restaurants
By Momaical on May 29, 2012
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The girls are starving. My husband and I know we have only a few seconds before Emmeline takes a bite out of Lena, so a dinner decision needs to be made with haste. We opt for sushi. The girls like to get a bowl of soup, add rice, chicken and gyoza for dinner. It's fast, filling and will stop the cannibalism before it gets out of hand. Plus, eating with "chomp sticks" is an added bonus sure to stave off potential toddler tantrums.
It's early -- only 5 pm -- and most people are not out for dinner yet. We try to hit restaurants at a time that is the least populated to avoid pissing off the patrons or the wait staff. Thankfully there are only a handful of people eating at this time. We saddle up to our booth. The dinner "music" begins. We pay extra for it, but it's worth it.
"Why don't we have waaaaater yet? We are thirsty! We are thirsty! We need a drink!"
(Backup singer croons) "Yes, firsty. So firsty. Need dwink." She is off key and wearing an outfit that is one wardrobe malfunction after another. I consider asking the waitress for a refund on the tickets.
"What is taaaaaaaking so long? I'm starving. So starving. I might just die." "Me aunt a yemin. Yeeeeemmmmmiinnnn in my dwink!"
The entertainers are getting stares from a few of the audience members. Perhaps they are not fans of sushi ordering/beatnik poetry slams? Boy did they choose the wrong dinner theatre. I shoot them "I wonder who their parents are because someone should do something about this" looks. They roll their eyes at me.
The waitress hurries to take our order. Weird. My husband orders things. I have no idea what I ordered but it has to be better than the bitter taste Bob Marley and the Wailer are leaving in my mouth. The "chomp sticks" arrive. For those of you that don't know, "chomp sticks" also double as weapons -- which is good because you never know when you need to get all Chris Brown on someone's ass at dinner.
Emmeline takes full advantage of my set immediately. She roars and rips them apart. They break in the wrong place, sending splinters everywhere. Emmeline then takes these weapons and deliberately pokes herself in the eye with one. The waitress gasps in horror. I ask for another pair because I prefer my sushi with wasabi, not bodily fluids. She runs away from us.
The sushi chefs are yelling things to each other. I'm pretty sure it's compliments about my superior mothering skills and impeccable manners of my children. One rushes over with the soup, rice and gyoza. This quells the storm for 3.2 seconds. Emmeline then decides that she is going to eat her soup with the straw from her drink and stick her face in the bowl of rice because "I a doggy-wog." When she comes up for air, she now has new white eyelash extensions, white eyebrows and a few rice piercings. Her nose is stuffed like a Spider Roll. Which, as you can imagine, is extraordinarily appetizing.
The restaurant is filling up more quickly than we are getting served. Some poor bastards get stuck in the booth right behind us; they must have left a crappy tip for the waitress in the past. Emmeline couldn't possibly eat another bite -- mostly because she has poured her bowl of rice all over the booth and the floor. It looks like a maggot parade. Bored, she decides that she is going to entertain herself by poking the guy in the booth behind us with her épée. If he were any kind of sportsman he would have heeded her "en guarde" and responded with his rapier instead of eating his California roll with it. He tries to ignore her. She taunts him with gyoza. It sticks in his hair. She breathes rice on him.
Whatever the heck I ordered shows up. I say a quick prayer that it's not laced with Miralax in retaliation for my children's behavior and dive in. I need to eat and get the hell out before something really embarrassing happens.
Too late. Emmeline starts blowing raspberries on the plastic back of the booth. The lovely noises are echoing throughout the small restaurant. As everyone becomes deadly silent, Emmeline yells "Dat guy is doin poopin' farts! Him is poopin' fartin'!" And, in case anyone is wondering who she is referring to, she pokes him in the head with her chomp sticks. My mouth is full and I can't swallow it without choking. I am half laughing, half drowning in masago. Mute, I am unsuccessfully trying to get her to stop which just makes her increase her volume. Even Lena is horrified. Mouth full of some roll-like-thingy, I tuck Emmeline under my arm and make a mad dash for the door. Everyone yells goodbye to us.
We do laps around the plaza while we wait for the remainder of our party to finish eating. Emmeline has decided she's ready for second dinner. She grabs the door of the Chinese restaurant in the next section of the plaza. The door is locked. Apparently they were warned. I figured we would have at least a few weeks before restaurants locked their doors upon our arrival. And yet, I can't kick these last 5 lbs. Sigh...
Please check out my blog! http://www.momaical.com/
Photo Credit: montage_man.
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