You Can’t Eat without a Fight

Posted: October 14, 2008 in marriage, wife

Moving on from Date Night Rule #1 (The Subway Sucks)…

I bring you:

You Can’t Eat without a Fight

Well…you CAN

…but then WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?!?

Rule #2: Finding a Place to Eat in Boston on game night sucks hairy donkey balls

The wife and I arrive in Boston about ½ hour late (for those on the metric system, this is equivalent to weighing 15 kilograms).

(I like converting things to metric…because it’s fun to learn other languages)

So we head to the “North End” of Boston – which is the “Italian” section of Boston.

(To my North End friends I say, “Hola!“)

Here, in the Italian section of Boston…

…the streets are lined with pasta and strewn with the carcasses of dead FBI informants.

I’m just kidding.

The streets are made of just regular pavement.

Restaurants in the North End are roughly the size of a standard work cubicle and seat approximately 12 people.

(17 people if you calculate using Celsius….man, I LOVE doing that).

We walked into our favorite North End restaurant (closest to the Boston Garden) and were told that there was a half-hour wait…

…unless we wanted the ONE table that would be cleared shortly.

The table that would have been available was roughly 1 inch away from the table next to it.

Wife: “I don’t want to be having dinner with another couple, do you?”

There are two answers to this question that I could have come up with:

Correct answer: “You’re right…we should wait. It’s OUR night, and I want to have a nice dinner with you.”

Incorrect answer:
“I don’t care what we do…but I’m not going to sit there if it’s going to make you all pissy.”

Guess which answer I gave?

My wife looked at me.

Turned around.

And walked out.

The ensuing argument, performed in the snow-slush-rain-shit-mix that was coming down, was done as we walked through the streets of Boston trying to find another restaurant…

narrowly avoiding a fistfight between us.

I’m happy about this…as my broken bones would have been tough to explain to the guys at work.


The next restaurant we walked into? 45-minute wait.

The next one? One hour.

My wife’s mad. I’m mad.

We’re still walking in this pseudo-winter WHAT THE F*CK IS THIS STUFF COMING DOWN SHIT?!?!?…and time is going by…

…and we have also now walked the equivalent of Paul Revere’s ride.

This is romantic. Just like I pictured it.

Actually…it’s more like the movie “Fight Club.”

Where’d we end up?

We ended up back at the SAME F*CKING RESTAURANT we started at.

..where we waited a half-hour…

…and sat 5 inches away from the next table.


That was worth it.

I need to keep my goddamn mouth shut.


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