Last night we ventured out to dinner with friends. It was an 8pm start so there was more than enough time to walk the dog, relax for a bit and then get going. Or so I thought.
Miss13 needed to be dropped at a friend, literally on the way so it was all going swimmingly. We were cutting it fine but making all those traffic lights through the city certainly eased the tension building in the car until we hit the roundabout at the offramp to Darling Harbour. ROAD CLOSED. Say what????? Bless all things onboard navigation related and we whizzed around the back to our usual carpark. Except it was FULL and hence CLOSED. At this stage I had the sweats and was hyperventilating because I DO NOT LIKE TO BE LATE. Ever!!!!!!!!! Fashionably late was never my thing, even when it was fashionable to be late. I’m not wired that way and chances are at this late stage I never will be. The sensible option was then to park at The Star, a million miles away and walk. Because apparently a taxi would take the same time. I’m just telling you that with short little trotters and a heel I should have dug those said heels in and demanded a cab.
So this is the part where you think, okay, they got there – 25 MINUTES LATE – and she had a glass of champagne to calm herself and it all went well. Not to be. We were seated on the third level of our restaurant which is a fine establishment by the way and a place I frequent regularly. However, so impressed was I with myself on the day I booked (because I had also managed to secure a last minute appointment with the hairdresser for Miss13) that I forgot to specify where I should sit and they clearly don’t check their notes from previous bookings. (Yes, I know I’m asking too much). Unfortunately I had attended my hot yoga class at 10am that morning and wasn’t intending on doing another session just 10 hours later. Holy mother! With all the rules and regulations in this country you would think that this kind of heat in a restaurant has to be somewhat illegal. A person could spontaneously combust.
It was also not helped by the large group of 20 something’s seated behind us who also clearly are not used to the restaurant experience. I think perhaps they are still at the stage where one should get a good kebab and go eat it at the beach. Between running up and down from their seats to show each other the latest porn video and giggling like halfwits, I was tempted to have a strong word however I wasn’t sure whether those beards were related to hipster shit or something more sinister. Perhaps it was a farewell dinner?
As my feet hit the ground floor Miss13 messaged to say her friend was very unwell having eaten a scallop earlier and we needed to pick her up ASAP. Now if you remember our vehicle was parked MILES away. Yes, so off these little legs again trotted off at a startling pace back to the car. I was already sweating like a beast from the restaurant so my high speed dash back to the car did not help matters. Not at all. The Artist picking up on my angst then fed his credit card into the cash section of the payment machine which did not endear him to me at that moment. Fortunately the machine is more intelligent than those who use it and after some coaxing regurgitated the card. Disaster averted. The only saving grace at this stage was that the bastards that closed off Darling Drive had found it in their cold, black hearts to re-open it so we were able to get to the cross city tunnel and Eastern Distributor to retrieve Miss13 only 45 minutes after her urgent text message.
And this my friends, is why a sensible person such as the author herself usually spends Saturday nights watching Law & Order re-runs in her pyjamas and Menolog’s the meal of her choice. That way you don’t get foot burn.
Love and light
p.s. The company was stellar so the evening wasn’t a total loss 🙂