Last night I was at The Melting Pot restaurant for the purpose of celebrating my daughter’s sixteenth birthday fondue-style. It was supposed to be a happy, fun-filled family eatery with happy-fun for everyone. Except, I forgot that it was dimly lit, romantic, quiet and not at all a family establishment – obviously a setting for people sans children. And surprise of surprises, we did NOT fit in at all.
The seven of us showed up after almost an hour in traffic with hungry grumpy babies. We were escorted into a smallish room (which had about 5 tables in it) and it went down hill from there.
Throughout the night the hostess would lead various couples into the room we were in and would either immediately or within moments – escort them right back out with a look of horror that said “oh dear god help me escape the screaming toddlers” . We were not very popular.
Roark decided from the start that his high chair was like a prison and it was apparently burning his baby-flesh. That HAD to be the reason he would NOT STOP SCREAMING. Because if there was not a reason as grave and immediate as this, I would have to kill him. I swear people all across
I don’t think I have to tell you that this didn’t at all work out how I had planned. After crawling for a bit and tasting freedom, the idea of going back into the restaurant and sitting in his prison-shaped burning chair did not at all appeal to him…even a little bit. The butt.
In the end I ended up with chocolate and Baileys Irish Cream all over my skirt and chicken in my hair. As a bonus my face is cut out of the family picture that we paid extra for and all Roark would show is the back of his head. Lovely night for all…