Hello darlings! I have a question for you. If you wanted to visit a town and you wanted info about nice places to eat there, who would you ask?
A) Google
B) Your mom, duh! After all, she knows everything about anything!
C) A random friend who’s been there before.
D) Your wife who happened to study in said town for 10 whole years.
If you answered D), thank you, you are welcome to stay in the sane-land we live in.
If you answered A), B), or C), what’s wrong with you?
How could you not trust your own wife to know better than the other three (yes I know more than Google!) on where to go to eat and have fun? Doesn’t she know you? Doesn’t she know how particular you are with your food? Doesn’t she know the town pretty damn much after having spent 10 years there?
Nooooooo! You needed to be a control freak and make sure that you’ll eat great food and you got all the info you could get.
That’s what took place before our second trip with our daughter, a year ago. We went away for a long weekend to have some fun. We did. Have some fun. One of the adults had more fun than the other. And that same adult had some fun in expense of the other, too.
Everything was great on Friday. We took a nap and then went for a walk into town. On Saturday we went to the outskirts of town to a small village and enjoyed trekking for a short time. We even had a date night with drinks and met with some friends too. Fratzolaki was (and still is) very easy to care for and she made things easy for us.
On Sunday, Nick decided that he will take the advice of his (random) friend on where to eat lunch and took us to one of my least favorite neighborhoods in town. I kept trying to convince him that there are no good places to eat there and showed him many lovely (and well known) restaurants as we passed through them. He turned down every last one of them.
So we ended up in the most awful place I’ve had the displeasure of eating. The place offered take away food for students and had a small area with 4 tables where you could eat in too. As soon as Nick saw the variety of ready food in front of him he was sold. As soon as I saw the drunk lady that sat in one of the tables and the same variety of food Nick did, I wanted to bolt.
But I didn’t. I felt there was a lesson to be learnt there for both of us. I would learn patience and acceptance of my husband wishes (once in a while) and he would learn how not to take random advice for eating out (after a trip to the rest room). Little did I know how these thoughts would come around to bite me in the …. behind.
So I ordered spaghetti since they seemed innocent enough (and really how bad can you fuck up spaghetti?) and tried to keep Fratzolaki's stroller as far away of the drunk lady as I could. In all honesty that lady didn’t bother us much. She just kept shouting well wishes for the baby every once in while. No biggie.
The place was old and pretty much in bad condition. Everything was old and not so clean. It seemed to me that they were left untouched by the modern world. In one word the place was decadent. It did have a constant amount of traffic though. There were mainly young people, probably students, taking out food. That should have tipped me off for the things to come but it didn’t. I blame it on mommy brain.
Nick ordered three plates of food and ate every last bite. I kept thinking this isn’t happening, how can he eat that junk?
My spaghetti was cold and dull. I ate a bit and then stopped. I was trying not to flinch every time the drunk lady shouted so I was too much occupied with that to try to eat.
In order to understand how things went down, you need a little background story. You see a year ago everyone in my country paid almost everything in cash. We did use credit machines but they weren’t as wide spread as they are now or as they are in other countries. In other words, you wouldn’t use your credit card for small amounts and you wouldn’t use it in places as old as that one.
Nick being Nick, thinking he lives in the center of freaking London or something, got up to pay the man in the cashier and took out his card as he stood. I couldn’t hold my tongue when I sarcastically and full of irony told him “If they take credit cards in this ancient joint, you can pierce my nose”, which is a Greek expression that’s not easily translated but you get my drift.
A few minutes later he came back with a smug look on his face and a credit card receipt. I was like:
Guess who now has a nose piercing!
I could not believe my eyes! His smug look was one for the ages! I shook my head, laughed and submitted to my fate.
And since I am not one to shy away from a lost bet, I made my research, took Fratzolaki in the stroller some days later and got my nose pierced in a wonderful tattoo parlor. Suffice to say that the guys in the tattoo shop laughed for hours after hearing my story.
What can I say you guys? I really want you to think I am pretty smart but there are times I am being outsmarted by my dear hubby. In all honesty I love my piercing and I had been flirting with the idea of getting one for years. So it wasn’t a real hardship or anything. Still, it bugs me that he won this round. I keep waiting for him to screw up or something so I can take my “revenge”.
How do you think I should repay him?
