Life’s Embarrassing Moments

If it’s Wednesday night, it’s supper with Betty. We went to Pacific Table tonight, at my suggestion. Once seated, I realized I forgot to transfer my cell phone from my desk to my purse, and my credit card is in a pocket on the back of the phone. Betty: don’t worry. I have my credit card.

So we had a good dinner—salmon sashimi for me, shrimp rolls for Betty, a fire-roasted artichoke to split, and a glass and a half of wine each. Our waitress was super nice, talking with me about the fact that tuna carpaccio is on the menu on the website but not on the actual menu in the restaurant. I settled for salmon sashimi, which was delicious. She said she talked to a manager, and she bet the next time we came in carpaccio would be on the menu. Carpaccio, be it tuna or beef or elk, which I’ve actually had, is one of my favorite things. I made a mental note to tip generously.

Bill came, and Betty discovered she didn’t have her credit card either and had no cash. I had enough cash for all but slightly under three dollars of the bill but none for the tip. I suggested calling Christian, thinking he might be home and could run my credit card down to me. We couldn’t get him, so I asked Betty to call Jordan (remember I had no phone, and besides I couldn’t hear in the noise of the restaurant). Jordan is a super negotiator in such situations—she asked to talk to the manager, and pretty soon the manager said it was all taken care of. Jordan will go by tomorrow and pay the balance and a tip. And then Betty discovers of course she has a checkbook—the manager, Charisse, waves it away.

I’ve been trying to convince Jordan that I really can have my car back. I’m recovered physically and mentally and responsible enough to drive, so I’m sitting there thinking this is a huge setback, and she’s going to be laughing on the outside about two dizzy old ladies but not so jovial in the long run. She’s not home yet, so that remains to be seen.

Christian called just now and laughed aloud at the scene, sorry he had missed being involved. We’ll hope Jordan also laughs.

The only other interesting thing of my day is that I discovered that my now-defunct food blog, Potluck with Judy, is still online, and I’ve been raiding it for recipes for my new cookbook. Lots of old favorites that I thought I’d lost when we downsized and many of my recipes went away. I’ve been having great fun—chicken in crescent rolls, a beef and noodle casserole that is the best ever, an overnight salad. A great array of tempting goodies.

This ditzy old lady is signing off for the night—no, I take that back. I don’t want to be known as ditzy!

Pratfalls: Life’s Embarrassing Moments

 

A friend and I headed for dinner tonight at Lucille’s, a local restaurant celebrating Crabfest, with lots of crab recipes on the menu. It was so popular we had to park across the street in a church parking lot. We made our way across the street and around the stone wall that delineates the patio, squeezed between a car and those yellow posts that signify “don’t come any closer.” Almost to the front door, when I caught my foot on a bit of macadam around one of those yellow posts and went down on my knees—hard!

So many kind people rushed to help me, but I was okay, though my knees stung. Mostly I was chagrined. I was just beginning to get my self-confidence back after the swollen foot episode and here I was on the ground. Thankful that I didn’t rip the favorite pants I was wearing. With the kind help of a small group, I made it up. Assured them I was all right and we all proceeded into the restaurant.

Once seated, I realized that my knee and elbow were bleeding. The waiter brought me a wet (okay barely damp) napkin and my dinner companion gave me Band-Aids. I proceeded to enjoy a lovely crab salad supper. But on the way home I discovered another injury—a broken fingernail. Almost as serious as the skinned knee and elbow.

At home I put the clothes with blood on them in cold water to soak and treated myself to another glass of wine. Best remedy I know.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve fallen, either in public or at home. In fact, my con Colin said once, “It’s not that your balance isn’t good or that you’re clumsy—you just don’t look where you’re going.” Maybe, but who looks down all the time? Once I tripped over a curb at Central Market—the man who had distracted me with talk about my VW ignored it and went right on into the store, but another kind gentleman came up behind me and asked if I was okay.

“Yes, sir. I’ve fallen so much I’m pretty used to it, and I know how to do it.”

But I don’t usually skin my knee. And tonight the elbow smarts a bit. But my pride is pretty much intact.