We ate French food but not like French people

We are not fancy restaurant people. We are most definitely good food people, but we'll take it anyway it's served. Lesco busted out the fancy restaurant card for the anniversary. I'm positive it was for two reasons.

Number one, he said he never want to to drive by this place again and hear me say, “I really want to eat there someday.” Giant sigh. Wistful look to the west because that's the direction you turn when you're in dire need of some good , dramatic natural light for your face.

Number two, I think he felt a wee bit guilty. He shouldn't have. For some reason we both became overwhelmed with the idea of another thing to have to get all creative for.

“Oh look honey, you decorated the entire house in strung up pictures of our marriage. Look at all the twinkly lights! Listen to the soundtrack of our marriage you made. Is that an exact replica of our wedding cake??” Dudes, I got as far as buying the string and some gold spray paint to make things shiny.

Instead we kind of pinky swore we would not do anything for each other. Then I broke the rules and was a tiny bit sad when he didn't even have a card. Damn those female genetics of mine that laugh in the face of the mighty pinky and it's higher law.

He made reservations and babysitting arrangements with my awesome sister in law. So awesome that she actually asked if she could babysit for us. Multiple times. You should know that a baby is due to fall out of her any time now. Maybe as I'm typing this. I did make her dance to Ice Ice Baby the other day. According to youtube videos, that's pretty much a guaranteed labor inducer.

I learned quite a bit about the French.

They are all about washing silverware. They must get the high I get when I bust out of can of rainbow chip. Every ten minutes they were bringing over a tray with fresh silverware. We live in a desert people!

French people are slow eaters. I think they were forcing us to have conversation by making us wait 35 minutes between courses. I tried to tell them that we've been married 8 years and all we really wanted was to get in and out of that restaurant so we can come back to our house, put something away and stare at it for ten minutes while it stays in it's place. Like magic. Magic that used to happen all the time before a monster moved in. Les sigh.

French people like their wine. Menu, one page. Wine list, seven pages. I've seen long wine lists before, just not ones that rivaled the unabridged version of Les Miserables in girth.

The French keep things delish. Oh my frick, I might pass out just remembering the way that brioche melted in my mouth. And after my lips regained movement from the temporary shock the glorious onion soup put them in, they belted out the French anthem in praise. Totally involuntary and a little conspicuous in such a quiet restaurant. We'll go back for more soup and chocolate mousse.