Both Stewart and Michelle have reservations for tonight's dinner.
“Why is a car battery on the kitchen table?” asks Michelle, ready for dinner in a swanky new dress.
“It’s corroded. Not sure it’s safe to drive.” I’ve also let the air out of the tires, but she doesn’t know that yet.
“We have reservations for eight!”
“Yeah, that place with the Michelin tire.”
“It’s a star, Stewart. Do you know how hard it is to get reservations at Le Laundromat!”
“An automat! Coffee and a slice of key lime pie. Why didn’t you say?”
“Not automat. Laundromat,” says Michelle. The poofy shoulders on her dress sag. She points her clutch at me like it’s loaded.
“Well, we’re stuck at home. The car’s electric system’s wonky.” I pull an oily rag from my coveralls and “clean” the battery.
On every anniversary, Michelle drags me on a foodie adventure. I’m the one who suffers. I’ve never told her since she loves it, but maybe some low-key sabotage is my ticket to dining in.
“What is this really about, Stewart? You and I know the only thing wonky in that car is the man behind the wheel.”
“Michelle, I can’t do adventurous eating right now.” I eye the jar of antacids sitting on the table.
“Remember when we went to that ‘catch your own meal’ place? We had fun!”
“I thought we’d be picking lobster from a tank, not chasing free-range chicken.”
“We both had amazing salads that night,” says Michelle, moving towards me to sit in my lap.
“Chickens are faster than they look,” I say, eyes rolling back as she scratches my beard.
“How about that fondue place?” asks Michelle, running her fingers through my hair. Toes curl in my work boots.
“Melted cheese, good. Hot oil on my trousers, bad. My happy sacks still look like a plucked chicken.”
“Well, I find it sexy. Plus, we got a free meal out of it.”
“It is literally the least they could do. What’s wrong with Gino’s?” I ask. They still have the table where we carved our initials in high school.
“I don’t want unlimited breadsticks for our twenty-fifth anniversary. I want something new, exciting.”
“I’m not falling for that bull again.”
“I make you eat one rocky mountain oyster, and I never hear the end of it.”
“Testicle. You made me eat a testicle, Michelle. On our anniversary!”
Michelle stands up and paces.
“So, I’ve made you suffer every year. That’s what I’m hearing.”
“I love you dearly, but those fancy places make you eat seafoam and a sliver of duck they waved over a gold brick. Two month’s salary for food shouldn’t leave a guy hungry.” I see her eyes downcast, and I give in. “But if it makes you happy, sweetheart, I guess I’m up for anything.”
Michelle gets out her phone, cancels the reservation, and gets one at Gino’s.
“In exchange, you watch Titanic with me with extra cuddles when I ugly cry,” says Michelle, hugging me tight.
Maybe that fondue place wasn’t all that bad.
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