Last night I took my teen girl out for date night.
We went into the old and recently renovated downtown part of my mom’s town where my girl and I have been staying with the puppy. The town is about a 30 minute drive west from the south-western part of Toronto where we live, and is also the town where I grew up.
We had a good day, yesterday, my girl and I.
The main strip on Lakeshore was under major construction for most of covid lockdown and now that we’re in stage 3 of reopening, we are able to eat both on patios, and inside of restaurants. The weather was fantastic and not humid, so we picked a patio not on the main drag but in a square, a perfect spot for people watching.
It was fun!
I noticed right away how hoity-toity this town is. Everyone who passed by our patio was dressed in expensive clothes, had coiffed hair, pricey sunglasses, was heavily bejeweled and their children looked like Ralph Lauren advertising.
Point is, it was interesting for people watching.
There are two funny stories I want to share with you from my evening with my teenager. The first one happened at dinner.
We shared a delicious Cesar salad (let it be known not everyone knows how to make a proper Cesar salad – this place did. It had just the right amount of dressing (meaning, it wasn’t dripping from my fork), it had fresh, crunchy romaine lettuce (not limp iceberg salad that had sat too long in the fridge) and fresh grated Parmesan cheese (not the fake stuff from the can). The bacon bits were crunchy and tasted freshly made (not simulated) which was bonus). Then, we each had a pizza, the size of a large dinner plate: pepperoni for the girl and funghi (mushroom) for me.
At one point, there was a fly. Because we’re outside, right? The fly buzzed around us and we swished it away with the usual gestures. Except, it kept coming back.
I realized at one point that the fly was mostly hovering over my pizza, not my daughter’s.
“How come he’s not bugging you?” I asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders but cracked a smile.
“Well, that’s not fair,” I continued. “I’m starting to take this personally.”
My daughter laughed and rolled her eyes at me. She knows as well as some of you do that I take things personally all the time, as I recently divulged in a previous post on this blog. She, as well as the rest of the family, are constantly telling me it’s not about me, not to be so sensitive, not to take it personally. “It’s not about you,” they say but… I am me and this is hard for me, to let it go. (But I’m working on it.)
The second story I want to share was happening next to us, at a table where three highly coiffed, smartly dressed, very Italian women in their 30s or so were sharing large platters of food. One of the women had an infant on her lap who got passed over every once in a while so that she could eat.
Their waitress was an older lady with short, cropped curly blond hair mixed with some grey. She tended to the three women and brought food or took plates away every few minutes.
At one point, one of the Italian ladies called the waitress over and pointed to the large spaghetti platter in the middle of the table and said “there’s a hair in the food.”
The waitress didn’t see it so she lifted the platter to inspect it closely. There was a long, dark hair on the very edge of the platter, not in the food.
The waitress said “this didn’t come from the kitchen” and I understood what she meant with that statement. She assumed (probably correctly) that the hair fell off one of the women’s heads and landed on the platter.
But, the Italian lady argued that she didn’t want the food and insisted it be replaced.
“I can guarantee you it didn’t come from the kitchen,” the waitress prevailed and then stared at the complainer. “Because the staff back there, they’re all black.”
But of course, the customer is always right and the waitress removed the spaghetti platter.
I’m not sure if my daughter noticed or heard the conversation but I remembered thinking, this is a blog-worthy moment. Just like I take pictures of every little event I encounter and subsequently write about it. 🙄 😀
Want to see our pizzas?
We ended up with leftovers so we got that packed up and then wandered along the road peppered with other patios and stopped at a little ice cream shop. Inside, we saw a counter of freshly made gelato so I picked a small cup of pistachio ice cream for myself and my girl picked lemon.
The bathrooms in the ice cream shop were closed ‘due to covid’ which I thought was strange. I asked my girl what she thought about that, emphasizing that washing hands was even more crucial during covid than during normal times, and she countered that it was too complicated to go in and sanitize the entire bathroom each time someone used it. Funny thing was, there were three staff in the shop and almost no customers (yet)… AND, the bathroom in the Pizzeria was open. I guess a restaurant has no choice but to make restrooms available for customers – I had been there before with my mom and didn’t remember seeing anyone going in to clean it after I was done. In fact, it wasn’t that clean when I went in after dinner, making my daughter’s argument futile. Perhaps each establishment has their own rules, what do I know.
After ice cream we walked around a little, peeked into the shops, and then returned home to a very happy puppy who greeted us as if he’d been abandoned for weeks. (It was less than two hours).
A lovely evening and a lovely bonding moment for this mom and her teen girl was had, and I’m glad I had a chance to preserve it here in the blog.