Date 40 - Making the Best of Last

Captain Horatio Longbottom and I arranged to go on a date on the last Monday of Lent. We usually spend Monday nights hanging out, so this wouldn’t exactly be special…Unless we decide to make it special. So to make it date-worthy, Horatio told me to get gussied up and he would plan something exquisite.


Unfortunately plans and reality live in two entirely different worlds. 

Plans

Reality

I mean, they're both nice worlds. You've just got to make the most of them.

I later learned that he’d gone through a few plans before finding one that worked.

"Dufresne, party of three!"

The fall of Plan A: Eons ago, when we lived together, Horatio, a friend and I tried to go to a Nepalese restaurant, but there was an hour long wait time for a table. Obviously, we went elsewhere. But it was there, in the back of our minds as a place to try. It got simply rave reviews, and he figured that maybe with a reservation, we could finally see what all the fuss is about. When he called to reserve us a table, he learned to his dismay that it is not open on Mondays.

The tricky part of Plan B: His back-up plan French restaurant was also closed. The woman on the phone told him, “We are never open Mondays.” The subtext said, “Only impoverished plebs and reprobates eat on Mondays.” Le sigh.

Plan C: There is an amazing new all you can eat sushi place that…Oh yeah, Emily hates sushi. Buggar.

Plan D: How about a new-ish fried chicken place that is supposed to be amazing? That will have to do, because I’m plum out of ideas.

There is no Plan E, so pretty glad that Plan D worked out.

I got a text letting me know that I no longer had to get gussied up. So I hung up my ball gown and gratefully stepped out of my heels.

I met Horatio on the corner near my house. We walked to the restaurant as he regaled me with stories of his plans and how they all spectacularly fell through. I laughed at him and told him it would all turn out okay in the end.

The restaurant was kitschy to the max. We ordered some fried chicken, a salad and some cookies. I grabbed a root beer out of the cooler and we stood around waiting for our food. There were no tables, and the only seat was taken up with the poster child for “hipster” who was self-consciously combing his fingers through his beard and trying to look unconcerned.



That is one fancy chicken!

The bill was insane. I guess that’s how you know that your takeout fried chicken is hip. It costs more than a three course meal at the French restaurant. I know, because I looked up their menu, and also fact-checked that they really are closed on Mondays. Not that I don’t trust Horatio, I was just weirded about by this trend and wanted to know if they advertised it. They do; says so right on their website, go figure. Apparently the fried chicken place missed the memo of being closed on Mondays, which all of the better-class places seem to have taken to heart. Horatio paid without comment, and I made a note to spring for phō next time, because this meal definitely blew his budget for the month. It’s fried chicken, not filet-fricken-mignon!

When the food was ready (It was only wings and other upper body pieces, because they were out of drumsticks and thighs.) we took our food and walked back to Horatio’s apartment. We joked and laughed and told stories, just like any other Monday Funday. We made the most of our ridiculously expensive fast food (to be fair, the cookies were delicious) and watched a mindless and silly comedy on Netflix.

When the movie was over, we talked about The 40 Date Challenge and what it has meant for me. We talked about the people I’ve met, the insane schedule, and the unexpected amount of effort. Horatio told me he was proud of me. It has been a long haul, and I was so happy to wrap it up with my friend who helped me through it all.

I sent out a meme to my friends and dates.

Thanks everybody for helping me through it!

Horatio sang me our goodbye song and I walked home.