Finally, after all the holidays and back-to-schoolness, we resumed date night. I searched for places more or less on our way home. I found a lil Italian-American place called Marco’s. When I saw the menu had so many things we like, I knew we’d have to go at least a dozen times. I made a reservation for 6:00 in the lounge.
I passed The Mister on my way down Keystone Avenue because he drives like a grandpa. Yeah, I know he’s a grandpa, but he drives like a grandpa from 1932, when cars didn’t even go fast. He calls me Marietta Andretti. I can’t tell if it’s with pride or jealousy, because when he drives, my job is to sit there and look pretty and when I drive, his job is to coach me to the finish line.
Once The Mister puttered into the Marco’s lot we were seated in the rounded curve of a corner booth, all candlelit and cozy. I said we could order the bruschetta, the maza plate, spinach & artichoke dip, stuffed mushrooms, crab cakes, or baked brie — he’d have to choose one. He chose the stuffed mushrooms, and they were delicious. We didn’t eat them all.
We both had the Caesar salad, also wonderful, more acid than pepper, and great parm. We neither one ate all of that, either.
The Mister needed a drink refill.
“I can’t believe I need another Coke before you do!”
“I drank a lot of water today.”
“I didn’t. I had Mountain Dew for breakfast and a DoubleShot at lunch.”
Caffeine overload doesn’t happen to him.
I ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and I have no regrets. GOOD meatballs are hard to come by. nom nom nom
The Mister did as he is wont to do. He ordered pasta and seafood in a white sauce. That’s his go-to dish. Then he picks out all the broccoli. I don’t know. He eats broccoli at home.
We chatted and laughed at picked at our meals.
Boxes? Yes, please.
Our waiter was Chad and we both enjoyed him. I liked him more after dessert. When I told him I wanted dessert, he said there were no pictures, I’d have to listen to him and then process it all and let him know.
Y’all, I liked the sound of every single dessert, too, and that’s sayin somethin. Creme brulee and tiramisu and cheesecake — there were more — those were the highlights.
I asked him about the tiramisu, how I do.
“Is it like someone’s gramma made it in a big ol pan or is this some artsy-craftsy, fancy-schmancy tiramisu?” i fuckin hate that pretentious shit.
He said it definitely wasn’t fancy, he’d put the finishing touches on it himself.
“I WANT THE TIRAMISU.”
“ESPRESSO!” The Mister shouted. He turned to me, “I need more!”
And do you know when Chad brought my tiramisu, my husband began eating it?!? Big steady forkfuls. Like how he bites and chews chocolate. Kills me.
“Stop it! You don’t even love tiramisu!”
“I’m not crazy about it.”
“Well stop it! I am!”
so good for joeys. mmm savor. mmm yesss
When I’d had my fill, I let him finish my dessert.
Then Chad brought the check.
And this is where it gets funny for people of a certain age.
The Mister held the check closer and farther, squinting, blinking, and turning his head this way and that.
“Baby, I can’t read this. I’ve got my glasses on and I can’t read it.”
“Oh,” I took it and looked at the blur of digits, “Hmm.”
I left my glasses in my car, for driving home at night. If I held the check far enough away to make up for my lack of glasses, there wasn’t enough light from the candle to read it. If I held it nearer the candle, it was too close to read. so romantical
Headline: COUPLE SITS AT MARCO’S ALL NIGHT
Lead: Not because romantic, but because blind
I had to move the candle farther from me and extend my arm to bring the digits into the sweet spot. I am a klutz and I assure you this was a real feat for me. I didn’t even knock over my drink or set my sleeve afire.
“That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure that’s not 88?”
We chatted and laughed s’more.
Then came time to sign the receipt. He was still stuck on how surely that was $88, but I repeated, “$68.58.”
He began to math.
I said, “You give him $15.”
He gave me that look. He always gives me that look, because he’s never waited tables, but he always leaves what I tell him to leave. but baby, it’s chad. we love chad.
He wrote it out and began to add.
I could barely read it but I checked his math, because I can’t math and he works in finance.
“Good job, Baby.”
We’ll definitely go back to Marco’s and I will definitely wear my glasses.
This Just Jot it January post is brought to you by LindaGHill, aging, and Happy Friday Everyone!
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