Saturday:
The plan for the evening was to have a private birthday dinner with Boy at the Fontana Di Trevi restaurant in Pirie Street, and then we were to meet up with friends at The Radisson hotel in North Terrace.
I thought I had my dinner outfit “sussed out”, but when I tried it on I was disappointed. I went to the local shopping centre to buy something new. I came back with bits and pieces – I was happy. After mapping out what I was to wear, I had my afternoon nap.
When I awoke, it was time to get ready so I tried on my outfit and showed Boy. He wasn’t impressed. Hell, neither was I; I don’t know what I was thinking — only that I must’ve already been asleep when I went shopping.
An hour later, and I was still fussing around! — it’s times like these when it hurts to be a girl. In the end I decided on the classic all-black look (though I was a bit miffed that I couldn’t wear my pointy pink shoes).
We made for the city, already half an hour late for our dinner reservation and on the way there I discovered that my top was more low-cut than what I was comfortable with. Actually, it was flopping about all over the place; I was basically modelling my underwear against my will. I wasn’t that excited to be 27.
I also realised I’d accidentally left my engagement ring at home. This has happened previously and I HATE it; I feel stupidly incomplete without my ring. After cursing myself over that, I cursed myself again for forgetting the digital camera too. By this time, I was getting quite stroppy and irritating my poor Boy in the process. I was thinking things like: I should just give up now or my birthday just wasn’t meant to be celebrated and maybe I should be at home surfing the net. Boy was always half way there in putting me back into a good mood, but then stroppy Jen would take over and he’d lose his place again.
See, this is what happens when I decide to host a get-together. The pressures and expectations and the dealings of having to come out of my comfort zone and try to be a social butterfly for a few hours just gets a little too much for me. The littlest things create the biggest hurdles.
My sour mood lasted right until we got into the restaurant, and had ordered our meals and had our first dance with Jack Daniels.
After a few sips of the alcohol, the uneasiness was wearing off and I realised what I had forgotten to do all day: relax. But I still wasn’t in my comfort zone.
After dinner, I managed to convince Boy that us going home for me to:
a) change my top
b) get my ring and
c) get the camera
was crucial in order for me to enjoy the evening – (it’s amazing what people will tolerate when you’re the birthday girl). Consequently it would make us half an hour late to the gathering, but I was unstoppable. There we were, racing back home and calling people to say we’d be late – (for those that don’t know, we live about 30 minutes out of the city, not exactly around the corner).
Saturday Night – The Dinner:
Inside the restaurant, the musical sounds of (what Boy referred to as) a Cassio Man keyboardist, was entertainment for the patrons and for us apparently.
Boy ordered a Chicken Parmigiana and I ordered a Steak with Pepper sauce. We were enjoying our meals and each other, when the manager approached our table.
“You know it’s really nice to see young women eating meat these days,” she said. “Most of them are always watching what they eat, they’re so diet-conscious, it’s a nice change to see a young girl eating meat.”
We both just sat there smiling at her. Though I think she intended for it to be a compliment, I’ll have you know that I felt very fat after her words. I love my big appetite and those that know me well, know this: I do eat a lot — despite my small frame.
She went on to say that I looked familiar: “Have you been here before?” I replied that I hadn’t, that it was my first time there, but that I have relatives who come to the restaurant a lot. Then she asked if we were married and I said that we were engaged.
“Ah, you had your engagement party here?”
“No, we didn’t. I really haven’t been here before”.
“But you do look familiar! What’s your surname?” I told her and her jaw dropped. “Wow! That was my maiden name!” She says.
(That actually does warrant a jaw-drop because there aren’t many of us with that surname in Adelaide.)
Intrigued, she kept on and asked if we were there for a special occasion. I told her it was my birthday. She says, “Happy Birthday! Oh, 18 yes?” I smiled again. A really big smile. She definitely won some points back with that one (after the meaty remark earlier).
So I hit her with the reality of how old I was and not long after she left us alone to our private celebration.
(The ‘do’ at The Radisson was a bit of a hit I think. And I spread my wings as far as an inexperienced social butterfly could handle it).
Posted by livien 
Posted by livien 