Out for drinks…….

Kat is with her grandmother, the house is semi-clean, hubby and I have replaced the neighbor’s mailbox I ran over (that’s another post, another day). We are out of things to do.

“Let’s go out. Get a glass of wine. Have an appetizer,” I suggest.
“Okay,” hubby agrees, “that would be nice.”

We decide to check out the new Italian place in our small town. It’s supposed to be on the dressier side, so we swing by home to change clothes, and we are off.

We park, we walk in, the hostess greets us. Everything is lovely. To be really honest, it seems like any other Italian restaurant . We sit down, and I start to look over the wine menu. They have no desert wines listed. None.

Ok, I think, Rieslings, then. They have one reilsing. ONE. And it’s the one that I would describe as more acidic or vinegary than sweet. Obviously, there are no Moscatos on this wine list. I’m starting to get upset, because the nice hour I had been envisioning in my head is starting to disapear. I think to myself that that it’s okay, I can order a Peach Bellini. Every Italian restaurant has peach bellinis. Except this one does not have peaches. Somehow, even though I’m panicking in my head, I manage to ask if they could make a strawberry Bellini. That’s all I want. I glass of wine, or a Bellini and to sit on a patio on an Indian summer day and to have a nice hour with my husband.

But no. No desert wine. No moscato. No decent reisling. No peach Bellini. No strawberry Bellini. And that is when I lost it. I turned into a brat. Holding back tears I told the waitress I wanted nothing else, I would just stick with water, and that I hated all their wine selections. And then I half shoved, half threw the menu at her. I sound like my 15 year old self. I can hear it in my voice, the whiny, bratty, self absorbed teenage affliction, but also the hardness, the “mean girl tone, I have to protect myself so I don’t cry”. And then the waitress left, with the promise to bring me a sample of a wine she loved, and a few tears leaked out.

Hubby tells me he can pay for his sangria, and we can go. I can’t though. I want to, deep down, it’s all I want, to leave, but I won’t because I can’t ruin the plan. So I shake my head, and insist we stay. I fight back tears, and I’m feeling half gone, not even here anymore, but I’m not sure where I am. I just know I am not fully in the present and the feelings I am having are way more than I should be. The waitress brings the wine she loves. It tastes like an okay wine, not as smooth as I like, more floral than I like, and with a definite vinegar taste. I look at hubby. He looks at me. I shake my head.

“I wouldn’t buy a glass of it,” I say. My voice cracks. Tears stream down my face. What in the world is wrong with me? Why am I this upset over wine? What is wrong with me? This is crazy!

“We can go. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” Hubby says, very quietly. He seems aware that I need to make the choice to leave.

“Okay. Lets go,” I agree. He’s right.

The waitress comes back. I inform her that we aren’t staying and her wine is gross. Oops. I probably should have kept my mouth shut, and let hubby do the talking.

Luckily we are seated on the patio, and there is a gate that leads right out to where we are parked. I’m able to go straight to the car while hubby waits for the waitress to bring his card back.

I run to the gate, and to the car. I curl up on the passenger seat, and let some of the tears fall, but even then I block them from falling freely. I know if I let them fall without my control, they might never stop. They might drown me in grief and sadness. I don’t understand this. Where is all this hurt coming from? Why does it feel like my insides are being ripped open? The numbness that kept the pain dulled from me seems to be less there, and this is bad. It hurts. I need the numb feeling to come back. Why am I crying over wine and bellinis? What is wrong with me? Have I truly lost it?

Hubby gets in the car, and he doesn’t say a word, just puts his hand over mine, and starts driving. After a minute he says, “let’s go home.”

“Okay.” I say, because that’s all I really want to do anyways.


4 thoughts on “Out for drinks…….

    • Thank you. It’s so hard when we “turn 15”. I’m so thankful my hubby understands now, that helps. And, of course, it’s lovely to not feel alone, and know that others turn into a 15 year old at times, too.


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