Awhile back, Antique Daddy and I went out to dinner with my friend Jennifer and her husband to a fancy steak house.
As I may have mentioned before, Jennifer is nearly 6-foot-tall, skinny, has long blonde hair, perfect nose, perfect teeth. And if that weren’t bad enough, she’s smart, kind-hearted and funny. She used to be a pediatric ICU nurse caring for the sickest of the sick children before she retired to have her own children. And she’s 14 years younger than me. When we hang out, I choose not to think about how I could have been her babysitter.
Normally, people like Jennifer intimidate me. Normally when I’m around someone like that I’m painfully aware of what a dork I am and I get all nervous and develop a spontaneous case of Tourettes. But she’s so nice and totally unaware of herself. Therefore, it is impossible to hate her. Trust me I have tried and I just can’t. Even when I went swimming at her house and we were both in swimming suits, I tried to work up a little jealous resentment. But no, couldn’t muster a drop.
Anyway, while the men folk parked the car, Jennifer and I made our way into the restaurant. When our table was ready, I followed the host to the table and Jennifer walked behind me. You know, the whole age before beauty thing. Since it was a steak house, it was packed with tables of manly meat-eating business men. And as we walked by, the heads, they were a’turnin’.
My little ole wrinkled-y ego inflated mightily. I tossed my hair back and did my best run way walk and tried to act like I didn’t notice all the stares. Until I realized that nobody was looking at me. They were looking right over my head. At Jennifer. Who was oblivious to the men who had nearly fallen out of their chairs to get a look at her.
As I took my seat at the table, I fluffed out my napkin and put it in my lap and then I neatly folded up my pride and tucked it into my purse.
Tonight Jennifer is taking me out to dinner for my birthday, which was awhile back. We will enjoy a nice meal prepared by someone else and cleaned up by someone else and we will enjoy girl talk interrupted only by the waiter asking if one of us would care for another glass of wine (answer: Yes! And bring the dessert menu too!) I am SO looking forward to it.
But this time, when the maitre d’ escorts us to our table, I shall insist that she go first.