The young, the smooth, Mr. O.

I'm doing a lot of reminiscing lately about the early days, when Mrs. O. was not yet Mrs. O.  I was thinking about a funny story of our first 'real' date.  Thank you Mrs. O. for sticking with me!

We had begun spending a lot of time together and had become really good friends.  Inseparable, really.  So, we decided to go out to the Macaroni Grill for a date.  We had not actually been out on a date yet.  It was an interesting experience and we learned a few things on this date. 

First, conversation is more difficult when you're sitting directly across from someone.  I had never really thought about that before.  We usually had such an easy time talking to each other but there was a subtle awkwardness about this evening.  It's way easier if you're sitting on adjacent sides--close enough to talk comfortably, but not staring each other down.


Second, and this is the good one, we learned that our families dine in distinctly different ways.  Not-yet-Mrs. O. grew up in a family that shares every bit of food--no beverages.  I on the other hand grew up in a family that protects our food like Fort Knox protects gold bullion.  I was not offended by the offer of sharing food, but not enticed by it, either!


The nexxus of our dining experience came with dessert.  I don't remember what I got.  My memory of the evening is completely devoted to the events that surround the chocolate cake covered with a conservative splash of ganache.  It was wholly unappetizing to me.  I mean, who would bake a cake and 'forget' the most important part: the butter cream icing.  What is ganache anyway, but a thickened chocolate syrup that belongs on an ice cream sundae.  I digress...so, they bring the dessert and not-yet-Mrs. O. offers up a share of her un-iced (for all intents and purposes) chocolate cake.  To which I replied...are you ready for this?  "If I'd wanted it, I would have ordered it!" 


No, really.  I'm not kidding.  I said that.  Smooth.  Classy.  I do fancy myself something of a lady's man.


I thought she was going to cry.  She was humiliated.  Embarrassed.  I don't even remember whether I smartened up enough to have a piece of the cake, but she was gracious enough not to shove her fork down my throat the next time I opened my mouth! 


Ahhh,  good times!


Note to self: Eat the cake.