So Saturday night Brett and I got invited to drive north to have dinner with his parents and then spend the rest of the weekend at our favorite beach condo. The story behind the dinner is somewhat long, but basically Brett’s dad’s company worked with a plumber in NY who invited the Beckers to eat at his family’s restaurant when he heard that they were going down to Florida for the weekend. And who would turn down a free dinner, right? We didn’t know anything about the restaurant and of course I didn’t look at their website or anything before we left (real smart Christina, real smart) so off we go dressed pretty casual (well me more than Brett-at least he had khakis on…)
And then we pull up. To a super fancy, modern, sleek, trendy restaurant. Where everyone is wearing suits. And cocktail dresses. And are certainly not casually dressed.
So of course I start freaking out and I’m basically yelling at Brett about how I am NOT appropriately dressed and how I CANNOT go in there! Like we have a choice. Because sadly I do not have a wardrobe in the back of our car full of clothes to change into should a situation like this arise. If only, right? Faced with no other choice I was forced to attempt the “maybe people will think we are so cool we didn’t feel the need to dress up” approach. Hey, celebrities do it all the time, right??
Besides the fact that everyone in the restaurant looked 10 times better than I did, dinner was awesome. The place had a cool, hip vibe that seemed to attract all ages, from the well loved “over 65 Floridians” to the younger “grabbing dinner before hittin’ the club” crowd. Oh, and don’t forget the young, boob-job ladies with their 75 year old husbands crowd. They’re my favorite.
We are not sure what the plumber guy said to his family about the Beckers, but let me tell you, we felt like celebrities. Seriously. Not only did the owner come over to schmooze with Brett’s dad every 15 minutes or so, we were also lavished with wine, a smattering of appetizers, entrees and a full plate of desserts. For free. Boo-ya. The head chef also came over multiple times (we actually counted-it was 5) to check on us, tell us about the food he brought over and basically just to say hello. Suddenly we’re so cool that other people are sitting there wishing THEY wore jeans to a fancy restaurant. (Okay, so maybe not but I can dream, right?) And we just sat there as they brought us food, food and more food.
After about 3 hours of schmoozing and eating we walked out to the valet parking circle, watching as expensive cars galore drove up to be parked. And then the valet drove up Brett’s 1999 Mercury Mystique and we climbed in and drove away. Oh yeah, we’re living the life.