Last week it was the Christmas card sentiment. This week? Oh yeah. Still slipping.
So, Rick was at a friend's, and I called to tell him to pick up Mexican for dinner on his way home. It was the usual wild & crazy 6:30pm scene here, though that is no excuse, really...
I placed our order, finished prepping the kids for bed, put Phoenix to bed and waited, salivating for our Texas fajitas to arrive. Rick walked in, empty-handed, and asked "What happened, precious love of my life?!" (*this way is much better trust me*)
I stared as though he were an Alpha Centaurian, and vehemently asked, "Why whatever do you mean dearest dear of the deary dears? Where is our hot delicious mezo-american meal?"
He described a clueless bartender, checking every order, assuring him that there was not one in our name.
I stared unbelieving, and felt the vague stir of an uh-oh in my stomach.
Yeah. I totally placed the order at the wrong location.
Never mind that we have lived here for 4 years... and eat there fairly often...
I whipped out the menu to see which location I had called (Crabapple! Dammit!), but never think I took the blame! Oh no! It was the witching hour crazies, the fussing baby on my hip - and what did he think would happen, leaving me here at dinner time alone, to play juggle-the-kid?
And then, I dramatically walked out the door, and took my heated, hungry booty to La Parilla, to await a fresh order.
And have a beer. At the bar. And though it was not quiet, it was peaceful and no one asked for anything and thus it was a golden 15 minutes.
I arrived home to find the girls in bed, guaranteeing a relaxed supper. I would say quiet, but you know Cole, and that child talks even in his sleep.
Rick has told this story 5 times already & I'm really gonna have to step it up now. He actually asked me if had remembered to feed the baby today... ooh, that stings. That is just wrong.
Every one knows babies can't call the wrong number.