7:30. At dinner. Ex-boyfriend telling waiter I will most likely have a glass of prosecco, the beet salad and the steak tartare as my main, and that “we will share the chocolate souffle, even if she says she doesn’t want it”. This is a logical assumption, because this is what I order at restaurants around 100% of the time. Not tonight, buddy!
7:31: Telling waiter I will have the crabcake to start, then the shortribs.
7:32: Asking about desserts. Really investigating this shit. Like a detective.
7:34: Apparently there is an ice cream pie.
7:34: Asking if the ice cream pie could properly be described as “glacial?”
7:35: Asking if there will be some manner of chocolate sauce on this ice cream pie.
7:35: Asking if there will be nuts of some sort.
7:36:There will be an Oreo crust? There will be! Sold, waiter! Sold on ice cream pie!
7:37: Asking if instead of prosecco I could have a glass of… Bailey’s.
7:37: Ex-boyfriend looking at me as though I am insane.
7:40: Ex asking if I am, maybe, upset about my birthday?
7:40: Replying “every time you order for me I think about throwing myself off the Titanic.”
7:41: Ex flustered, asking if that is seriously offensive, I’m laughing like a legit super-villain crazy person, now. I think it’s all the food. I think this is probably why Roman Emperors were always killing people. Telling him I am pretty sure ordering for people is still mandatory south of the Mason-Dixon line.
7:42: Thinking a lot about feminism.
7:43: Ex-boyfriend asking “is this some Megan in Mad Men move? Because you’re mad you couldn’t be there to land the Heinz account?” Shaking head.
7:45: Ex-Boyfriend asking if I can tell him why I am mad at him.
7:46: Explaining that I’m doing a piece on eating whatever I want. Case being made for “you are going to make yourself sick.” Pointing out that “the day I moderately consumed a reasonable amount” was not a catchy title.
7:47: Good fucking God, do not order Bailey’s, this stuff is ridiculous. This is absurd.
7:48: Kind of into it. Asking Ex if he’s tried this, waving it in his direction. Ex drinking scotch, wordless.
7:55: Fuck, this crab cake is delicious. Not as delicious as it could be, though. The pretzel crusted crabcake at Townhouse, say, is better. Irrationally angry that I am not eating that crabcake, on this day when I can eat whatever I want.
8:00: Reminding myself that while this is a free pass eating day, I am not actually going to die tomorrow, unless my heart explodes. Food will still exist in the world, and be there for the eating.
8:20: The short ribs are depressing. Not great. Overcooked, bad layout. Pushing them around on my plate like a sullen child. Making the pieces race one another, one with my fork, one with my knife.
8:22: Knife wins! Go, knife! Fork piece, you will be punished by going in my belly!
8:30: Vaguely aware I’m behaving very badly. I’m just smiling and racing meat pieces and really wish I’d ordered the steak tartare. Realizing that my thoughts are consumed only with food, and not with the social experience aspect of dining. Trying to listen to words, now.
8:31: Words. Reinsurance? Equity. Privately owned company. Murmuring intelligent things like, “Seattle is a place.”
8:35: Staging meat races is fucking hilarious.
8:37: But seriously – why so lame, little short rib? Why are you taunting me with how lame you are?
8:50: ICE CREAM PIE.
8:55: It would be better if it wasn’t made out of coffee ice cream. Telling Ex that I am furious at him for allowing this to happen, and that orange sherbet does taste like perfume. He laughs, but also looks genuinely terrified.
8:57: Ex takes ice cream away from me. Threaten to stab him with my fork. Tension.
8:58: Ice cream returned.
10: Back at the waltz party. Eating a strawberry with whipped cream. Officially too much. Go home and collapse. Sleep for 12 hours.
What I got out of this experience was….