You've Got To Be Kidding Me

Friday night Tony and I ended up at the local version of mega national chain restaurant. This is not my favorite place. In fact, I have never had a good meal at this restaurant, not even by accident. But two or three times a year we end up eating there on lazy Friday nights when we don’t feel like driving. Inevitably the meal does not end in dessert, but in proclamations like, “We are never eating here again,” and, “why did we pick this place? Ugh, It’s the worst.”

I was sitting outside, electronic buzzer in hand, wondering why I was waiting fifteen to twenty minutes to eat crappy food and up walk mama, daddy and adorable little daughter to sit on the bench across from us. Mama hands baby off to daddy and proceeds to light a cigarette.

“You’ve got to be f-ing kidding me,” I thought to myself. “Here I am paying thousands of dollars to have the slimmest chance of having a baby and this woman is smoking a cigarette right beside her baby!?!”

OK, I have to be honest I didn’t think it. I said it under my breath, “You’ve got to be f-ing kidding me.” It just came out.

Alright, you caught me. I didn’t say it under my breath. I said it out loud. I said it loud enough for them to hear. Tony elbowed me in the side, but I didn’t care. She glared at me and I glared right back. I was pretty sure that my husband could beat up her husband. And I was really sure that I could kick her ass. Besides, Tony and I got nothing better to do on a Friday night than get into a fight outside mega national chain restaurant and go to jail…being childless and all.

Luckily our buzzer rang before it became an infertile vs. irresponsible breeder hair pulling match. To be fair to mama she was holding the cigarette down by her feet and blowing the smoke away from the baby because, ya know…that makes it OK.

And the food was bad. And we’re never going back. For sure this time.