Last night, my husband and I celebrated my birthday at an upscale seafood restaurant. Wine flowed. The meal was perfect. Everything was delicious, especially the lobster.
But something was missing. Last year’s excitement must have spoiled us, because we kept waiting–in vain as it turned out–for the unexpected to happen. As we ate, we reminisced about the memorable events we witnessed during my 2012 birthday celebration. This is our best recollection of how that meal went down:
Maureen’s Birthday (2012): As soon as we entered the dining room, the maître d’ rushed over and seated us, snapping pristine white napkins in the air and draping them, just so, over our laps. It was that kind of place.
A young couple at the next table was hard to miss. Being a keen observer of human behavior, I guessed right away they were in lust, mainly because they had squished their two butts into a tiny leather banquette intended for a solo ride. Also, the woman kept her arm clamped around the guy’s shoulders throughout the entire meal. To prevent his escape, perhaps? But I digress.
Being as how they were fused together into one throbbing entity, each had only one free hand with which to eat a shared entrée. When something needed cutting, one of them stabbed the food with a fork while the other sawed away with a knife. By then, we were in stitches.
When our appetizer arrived, action was well underway a mere two-and-a-half feet from our table. Was the server blind? We were, apparently, sole witnesses to the hormonal tsunami taking place in one of Ottawa’s most upscale dining establishments. We continued our covert surveillance while devouring our teeny-tiny amuse-gueule, followed by the appetizers. Oh, who am I kidding? We stared. They were too wrapped up in one another to notice.
When we finished our first course, we eagerly awaited the sequel. Our main course, too.
As I shoveled in my butter-poached lobster, they exchanged kisses, and when I say kisses, I mean long, sucking, soul kisses. There was tongue. No doubt about it. Plenty of tongue. Accompanied by smacking, liquidy-sticky noises. I struggled not to tumble off my chair with the effort of suppressing near-hysterical laughter.
By the time dessert rolled around, I was afraid the woman would straddle the guy then and there. I can only assume the table was too close for such acrobatics. Trying not to think about what was happening underneath the couple’s table, I focused on my chocolate and salted caramel dessert. We wondered what would come–I should say, happen–next.
But before I’d finished licking the last chocolate scroll-work off my plate, the guy summoned the waiter and paid up. Before we could thank the couple for the entertainment they had unwittingly provided, they’d sprinted for the door. We had a fair idea what was next on their entertainment list.
Truth be told, we could have complained at any time. We didn’t. Call us voyeurs, but we were only too happy to sit back, knock back some excellent wine, devour amazing food, and let the couple have their fun, all the time marveling at their lack of inhibitions. Not to mention good table manners.
All and all, my 2012 birthday was a hard act to follow.
I would love to hear about your most memorable birthday dinner—be it good or bad.