CJDaily's Blog

February 23, 2010

Of mice and men…

Filed under: Uncategorized — cjdaily @ 11:35 pm

Valentines Day.  Day of love and romance and heart-shaped peeps.  Busiest night of the year in restaurant world.  Which means that if you work in restaurant world, a nice quiet night of romance is not in the cards for you.  I have resigned myself to the realization that V-day will never be a big deal for me and Jesse, simply because he will be working his buns off until 2am servicing all the amateurs who come out for their one night of fine dining a year. 

So this year, I decided if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.  Edge was understaffed and I wound up hostessing on Saturday night, something I occasionally do on big nights when they need somebody to smile nicely and escort people to their tables.  It’s a fun excuse to dress up and actually see Jesse rather than sitting at home in threadbare sweats, waiting for him to get off work.  It was a busy night, but perhaps because it was the international day of love, people were so much nicer than usual.  Usually hungry people are angry people.  People have literally waved their blackberry in my face, saying, “I HAVE a reservation, I made it ONLINE, do you want to SEE it?”  And then I say, “Yes, please, I’d love to see it, since you aren’t in our computer.”  And they start tapping away indignantly on their blackberry and five seconds later they mumble something having made the reservation for tomorrow and they didn’t notice the date, and whoops, and they slink away with no apology. 

But Saturday night went great, people were friendly, we were turning tables in the right amount of time, and aside from a few people who wandered in expecting us to have a free table on Valentines Day weekend, and being all shocked and offended when we didn’t, when we’d in fact been booked for a month, it was all pretty great.  I was feeling good, patrons were complimenting my cute outfit, and the night suddenly improved tenfold when two guys from the florist a few doors down showed up at the hostess stand with a GIANT bouquet.  And I’m all, “Wow, that’s gorgeous!” and he’s all, “Yeah, it’s for CJ?”  And I go, “Uh, really?  Cause I’M CJ!”  And he’s all, “Here you go then!” and I’m suddenly standing in the crowded lobby with an armful of roses and lilies and tulips and things I can’t even identify, and people who are waiting for their tables are cooing over my giant arrangement, and I’m thinking to myself, I have the best boyfriend ever.” 

How I even wrangled that sucker home is still a mystery to me, but it graced our table for the rest of the weekend.  Sunday night I wasn’t expecting anything, having considered my giant floral tribute to be enough, but wouldn’t you know, that man came home with shrimp, scallops, lobster, lobster bisque, and some kind of champagne mussel reduction to soak it all in and proceeded to make me the best dinner I’ve ever had.  Top it all off with champagne and homemade truffles and I was in total heaven.  I couldn’t even finish it all, and for me, that’s really something! 

Oh and in case you were wondering, for Valentines Day, I got him a rug.  Yes, a rug.  Romantic, no?  I just rolled it out on the floor while he was at work, placed a big red bow in the middle of it, and let him find it when he came home.  Perhaps not the most orthodox of gifts, but he happened to love it, especially as it was replacing a worn comforter we were using in lieu of a carpet.  Hardwood floors are cold, as we have come to find.  In place of rugs, which are expensive, and require a commitment to a color scheme, we have just tossed down blankets in specific areas.  Practical, but not very visually appealing, and very easy to trip over in the middle of the night when stumbling around in the pitch dark. 

Speaking of being up in the middle of the night, I was making Belle some milk when she couldn’t sleep last weekend.  I was in the kitchen, it was maybe 4am, and I am standing bleary-eyed at the stove, heating up her milk in a saucepan because we don’t have a microwave.  All of a sudden, I hear a noise in the corner of the kitchen.  I turn around, trying to figure out what I’m hearing and where it’s coming from.  It’s kind of a scratching noise, but also kind of a scuttling noise, and there’s the faintest clanking noise along with it.  I freeze, eyes darting around for any movement, any clue as to what I’m hearing.  I see nothing aside from the basic counter clutter, but the noise continues. 

I realise that it could be coming from one of three places–the inside of the wall, the floor in the corner which is blocked by the cabinet, or inside the lower cabinet itself.  I also realise that I really, really, am not prepared at this moment to confront any scratching-scuttling-clanking perpetrators, and decide that as long as nothing comes racing out at me, I will leave the noise alone for the time being. 

 (This would maybe be a good time to mention that the week before, I saw a mouse in the living room.  With my own eyes, I saw a mouse.  It was small and brown, and when I came in and turned the light on it ran for cover, and I must have blacked out for a minute ’cause I didn’t see where it went.  That or I was too busy calling the restaurant and asking Jesse to bring home a cat.)

So, anyway, I am done heating up the milk, and have poured it into her cup and am turning to leave the rodent/Jacob Marley-impersonator in peace, when my foot comes into contact with something small and soft.  And I swear to you, I screamed, only nothing came out, and if you’d been there all you would have heard was a strangled gurgle as I leapt into the air and did a Street Fighter style backflip.  Thank goodness Belle’s milk was in a sippy-cup or I’d have been wearing warm milk to bed.  And I look down at the floor, ready to do battle for my domestic turf, and I see something small, and soft, and… pink.  It’s a sock.  A tiny Annabelle sock that for some reason was on the kitchen floor.

Clutching my heart and swearing under my breath, I went and gave that kid her milk, grateful that it was dark and I couldn’t see the Rogue-style patch of white hair that had just undoubtedly sprouted from my head.  I mean, I think mice are cute and all, I even had one as a pet when I was little.  But knowing they are helping themselves to the contents of my pantry while I’m sleeping is unnerving, and the idea of meeting one with my bare foot still gives me the willies. 

So now I really want a cat.


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