So, I totally got hit on this weekend, you guys, and immediately told CB about it upon getting home. Which I think is a normal story to tell your husband, right? And he was like “look at you! Still got it!” Which I’m pretty sure is what you say to old people, so, you know, moment over.
But whatever, it was a moment in time and I was so thrilled that I’d actually noticed it before it was over that it totally made my night. Well, that, and the fact that by the end of the evening I had a 65 year old distinguished physician asking our 30 year old waiter to bring tequila shots over to our table.
Anyway, so over the weekend I was invited to an incredibly upscale dinner while on my business trip, and so I put on the only dress and heels I brought with me and suited up with my Professional Becky face. Which included applying a lipstick roughly the same shade as my lips and stabbing myself accidentally in the eyeball twice while applying mascara, which I got nervous would made me late because I couldn’t open my eye for a few minutes because it burned from the stabbing, and then I was rubbing my eye so much that I had to re-apply everything.
I know, I know.
So I walked into the dimly lit dining room, illuminated only by candles and the city lights from outside, and immediately started to panic-sweat. Everyone was fancy and distinguished and holding a glass of champagne while talking about Proust and the economy.
Ok, I made that last part up. I have no idea what they were talking about because I was too focused on the fact that a handsome young waiter was handing me pink champagne that tasted like alcoholic candy and I got distracted by continually pretending to be dainty and restrained when being offered hors d'oeuvres.
Anyway, I made it through the first hour without revealing too much of my personality, so things were going swimmingly. But then we were asked to take our seats and I noticed that each place setting had five different wine glasses set up in a row and I was like “Wait….are we playing a fancier version of beer pong tonight? What is happening?” Thankfully, that thought stayed inside my head. However, the woman who sat down beside me said “Are all of these glasses for us? I’m a light-weight, I may not make it.” And so I immediately exhaled that my kindred spirit had found her place next to me and relaxed into my chair.
Cut to: 15 minutes later when the waiter was asking if there were any specific allergies of which he should be aware.
Me: “Um, I’m allergic to red wine, unfortunately.”
Tablemates: “Oh no! What happens?”
Me: “Well, first I get kind of red. Then my joints get all sore and my hands start to swell up. And then, if I plow right through those signs, I’ll get sick.”
TMs: “That’s awful!”
Me: “It really is because red wine is delicious.”
Waiter: “Well I’ll be sure to substitute a nice white wine for each course where we’re serving red to the rest of the table.”
Me: “Ok, so two things: one, all of these glasses are for me right here?”
Me, continuing: “Ok, so the second thing is that I know nothing about wine, so honestly? Don’t worry about me. You could bring me the exact same wine for each course, tell me it was something different than what I just tasted, and I’d be like ‘oh, this is good!’ and keep eating my tiny meal. I promise, so don’t worry about me.”
Waiter, laughing: “No, no, it’ll be my pleasure. I’ll be sure to pair a great wine for you with each course.”
Me: “Ok, but all I’m saying is that you may be really disappointed when you’re telling me all about the different notes in the wine and all I can tell is that it’s sweet, tastes like wine, and I like it.”
Waiter, laughing: “No, I’m going to enjoy introducing you to various wines, whether you notice the differences or not!”
Cut to: an hour later, my table mates were like “Um, have you noticed that he’s going into the giant wine cellar over there every time we have a different course and is hand-picking wine for you? He’s opening bottles JUST for you.”
No, actually, I hadn’t noticed because I was too busy trying to figure out how they cut the mushrooms in the first course so finely and why I had a tiny fork in front of me that looked like something a doll would use in a fake tea party.
Me: “Oh really? No, I hadn’t noticed.”
TMs: “Yeah. And he’s spending an awful lot of time talking to you about wine, food, and Iowa. I think he’s got a little crush.”
Sidebar: The Iowa part isn’t weird, you guys. I mentioned being from the Midwest and he is from Iowa and so we bonded. Until he referred to the Midwest as the “Midbest” and I shook my head and said “Yeah, don’t ever say that again, please.”
However, I had noticed that he would circle back around in between courses and “top off” my glass. And once I looked up while he was double-pouring and he winked at me.
WAIT: I think this is what my friends and family refer to as being flirted with, which I totally miss ALL OF THE TIME because I’m too busy figuring out the use for tiny forks! So I got excited that I noticed the winking and the extra wine and the lingering at the table to talk about oak barrels vs steel barrels…..
….but then I was like “nah, this is just his job. And I’m one of the only people in this whole room talking above a whisper, so I’m just making his night at work a little less dull.”
So I put all of the potential flirt-signs aside and continued to enjoy food I didn’t recognize. But THEN he brought out the last wine of the evening.
Waiter: “So, this is a really special wine. I was going to bring you champagne for this course, and am happy to if you don’t like it, so just let me know.”
Me: “Oooh, I do love me some champagne...”
Waiter, holding the bottle up for me to see: “But this is a white wine that has been aging since 1983.”
Me: “Wait. 1983?”
Waiter, laughing: “Yeah, which is funny because this wine is a year older than I am.”
FAIL, cute waiter, FAIL.
Me: “Um, Johnny, are you saying that to make me feel bad? Because it’s working. You were born in 1984??”
Johnny, laughing: “No, no, I’m saying it because it’s embarrassing for ME! Besides, you couldn’t be too far behind….”
When you were born, I already
knew how to tap dance. And kill it
in suspenders. Love, Becky
Me: “That’s not even a funny joke. Make your way into the ‘70s and we’ll be getting warmer.”
Johnny, laughing and pouring: “Well, I would never have known…….”
Awkward silence because I was staring at the red wine coming out of the older-than-my-waiter bottle.
Me: “Um, Johnny, why are you trying to kill me with red wine?”
Johnny, laughing: “I knew you were going to say that, but that’s what’s so cool about this wine! It’s been aged so long that it’s a white wine with a red color. I promise. It’s white wine. Just try it, there are hints of caramel in there that I thought you might enjoy.”
Me: “Well yes, because caramel is delicious.”
And then I tried it, loved it, and high-fived the 30 year old waiter.
Johnny: “I knew it!”
Tablemates: “Wait, what wine were we going to get? We want to taste that one, too!”
And so Johnny made his way around the table with my special, old (younger than me) wine and we all toasted:
TM: “To the fun table!”
The rest of us: “To the fun table!”
65 year old TM: “Hey Johnny, do you have any tequila shots back there?”
Me: “Oooh no, I have to work in the morning, no tequila or shots for me.”
Um, can we all take a moment to shudder that I was the voice of reason here?
Anyway, we made it through dinner without doing shots and, while simultaneously feeling warm from the wine and the winking, I went to get my coat to leave. Which is when I ran into Johnny.
He came over and shook my hand, lingering and holding it:
Johnny: “It was such a pleasure to meet you, thank you so much.”
Me: “Me?! Thank YOU! That was incredible. Everything was delicious and the special wines were so cool, I really enjoyed myself!”
Johnny: “When do you leave for New York?”
Me: “Tomorrow evening after work.”
Johnny: “Oh, that’s too bad, there are some great places in the city I wanted to show you.”
Um, Johnny? I was born in the 70s and have a husband. See my rings? No, of course you don’t because you’re blinded by my timeless beauty. Obviously.
And so, of course, I couldn’t wait to share all of this with CB because he has a hot commodity (to one) wife. But after telling me that I still got it while brushing his teeth, he was like “Also, how cool is it that you got to drink wine that was that old?? That is so cool, Beck!” and I was like “Right? Because the waiter liked me.” And he was like “blah blah blah old wine blah blah.”
Me: “Um, you seem to be distracted by the wrong part of the story.”
CB, laughing: “Yes, you’re hot, the waiter loved you, he was cute and you had a blast. But you got to drink REALLY rare wine! Wait until my mom and sister hear about that.”
Me: “You skipped right over the flirty parts and got right down to the alcohol.”
CB: “This is why we work.”