Invitation To The Dance

 

I was looking forward to the evening. There was a great football game on TV that I could watch in my pajamas. There's nothing like high definition and a fifty-two inch screen. And a nice soft couch. And beer and snacks. And a game that starts at six thirty so I'd be able to get a good night's sleep even though it's likely to take three or four hours. I don't know why they have so many ads and so long a half-time show. But that's the breaks of the game.

“What's for dinner?”

“What would you like? I'll make you whatever you choose.”

“How about a steak. And maybe some French Fries.”

It was getting better and better.

My wife opened the refrigerator^.

“We have some left over spaghetti and meatballs in the fridge. It's been in the back for a couple of weeks and I'd like to use it before it spoils.”

“It's not what I had in mind but if that's easier for you, okay.”

“Or maybe you'd like some lasagna or tuna salad. They're here too. I'm not sure how old they are but we've got to get rid of them.”

“Whatever's easiest for you. I just want to finish eating before the game begins.”

There was a pause, and then:

“I have a great idea. A new Chinese restaurant opened a couple of weeks ago and all my friends say that it's wonderful. Perhaps we can go there. If we leave in the next few minutes we'll be back in time.”

“You know I don't like Chinese food. I'd rather go to a delicatessen and get some real food. But we'd better leave soon.”

“There's a wonderful fish house not far from here. Gourmet Fillet. It's supposed to be very good. I think you'll be more comfortable, though, if you put on a sport jacket or suit.”

“Fine. But let's go. It's getting late.”

“Just give me a minute to change.”

So I did, and we went. And the food was terrible and, I think, spoiled. But the service was worse. No matter how often I pleaded with the waiter to speed things up, we finished after the game began. My wife was very sympathetic.

“I know that took longer than you anticipated, but now that the game has already started and you can only see part of it, why don't we do something else?”

I wasn't ready to give up.

“There's still the second half. Let's go home.”

“You can find out the score from the TV or the newspaper later. Now that we're out and you're dressed, we really shouldn't waste the evening.”

It was after seven o'clock already and I was beginning to get tired. I was certainly tired of the debate. But my lovely wife filled in the gaps.

“Which would you prefer? The ballet or the opera? Both start at 8 o'clock and we can get there in time.”

“I hate both of them. Anything but ballet. And opera's not much better”

“Whatever you say. If you prefer, The Story Of Our Love is playing at the multiplex a few blocks away. I checked this afternoon and it begins in about twenty minutes.”

“As long as it's not ballet or the opera.”

Like all “chick flicks” the movie was terrible. And it seemed to go on forever. And apart from the movie itself, the advertisements were interminable. The time that my wife claimed to be the start of the movie was actually the start of those ads. My stomach was already beginning to bother me. That never happened with beer and munchies. But eventually we went home. It was long after I had planned on being asleep but we finally made it. I tossed and turned all night – at least when I wasn't in the bathroom.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The evening was a bust. I missed the game; instead of real food I had a piece of bad fish that gave me the runs; I had to sit through a tedious and mawkish movie; and I missed the game and got to sleep late. I couldn't help myself. I had to tell my wife how bad everything was. As usual, though, she had the last word.

“But you chose all the things we did. Next time I'll decide.”

Next episode: “It Goes Without Saying” – Why I don't like gays.