Fine Dining

It’s Friday night. I am wearing my new fancy dress (from the thrift store) my new fabulous faux diamond starfish necklace (from the same store) and my good heals. I have on my good make-up, I’ve done my hair am waiting for my girl friends to come take me out to a mysterious destination. I have had two weeks to figure out the location. At first I assumed that I was going to be taken to Day-Glo Disco bowling, Rock n’ Roll Roller skating, Dave and Busters, or some other fun place where I would most likely have a blast while making an ass out of myself. I do have a reputation to uphold. Then my friend gave me a clue. She said that she was wearing a skirt. A skirt? I have never seen this particular friend wear a dress or a skirt since she was in my wedding nine years ago. I immediately scrapped my original ideas.

Where to people need to wear a dress or skirt out here in the country? Of course you have to dress up for weddings. Maybe we were going to crash a wedding? We could do it. There were people at my wedding that I didn’t know….hey maybe those people weren’t my mother’s second cousins? That would be crazy fun a quite memorable evening. Then I got another clue. We are going out to eat. Dressing up to go out to eat around here? In our town dark jeans and a clean tee-shirt is considered semi formal and accepted in our best restaurants. We must be going on a road trip to Boston or Providence Rhode Island? That’s it! They are taking me to the big city.

Well my friends arrive and my friend isn’t wearing a skirt as advertizes. I should have known. She does look lovely and dressed up in a pants suit. My other friends are wearing skirts. They don’t take me to the city. The city comes to us. One of Boston’s fine Italian restaurants called Davios that has opened a second location at Patriot Place the fancy new shopping plaza next to Gillette stadium. We were all dolled up and ready for a real upscale evening. For five women who are used to McNuggets and mac an cheese this dinner was a momentous occasion.
We are seated in the glorious dining room ay a big white table by the window. We are approached by our handsome waiter Paoul who asks us if we would like a drink with his sexy accent. We order drinks and receive a heavenly smelling bread basket. I open presents and cards. This is my fortieth birthday celebration and I feel like a queen! Paoul brings the drinks and we toast to my 40 years and to friendship.

I feel so at home here in this fancy restaurant. I am 40 and fabulous. I can forget about potty problems and lost library books. I leave my mommy jeans at home put on a nice dress and heels and seamlessly reenter the cultured adult world. I smile at my revelation as I reach for a piece of bread knocking over my wine glass sending a tsunami of red wine onto the table cloth and into my lap. (I do not make this stuff up.) I of course burst out laughing. My friends join in and we all laugh until we cry. I guess no matter how old I am or what I wear, and where I eat I am still just me. Happy birthday to me.