My husband works. A lot. A WHOLE lot. He’s a restaurant manager at one of the most popular restaurants in Savannah and he feels like the whole place will go up in flames if he’s not there. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t but whatever, you can’t tell him that. Recently, he thought that the position above him was going to open up and he started working even more so that he could prove he deserved the position. We’re talking 16-18 hour days. He was up and gone before we woke up and home after the kids went to bed. Lo and behold, the position never did open up (rumors!) so he is back to working his standard 12 hour day, 5 days per week which really rocks!
In honor of this joyous string of events (I’d rather have him home and making less money than making more money and never home), I made a gorgeous gourmet dinner on Wednesday night. I bought flowers to put on the table, pulled out our Bulgarian tablecloth, roasted some purple potatoes with parmesan, put together a nice salad, and roasted a beautiful chunk of meat with pepper, thyme, and lavender. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
But one thing was missing. Some crusty bread. So I timed my trip perfectly around feeding Grady, warming the bread in the oven, and Kyle’s homecoming at 7pm.
I was getting ready to check out when my phone rang. It was Kyle. The ONLY time he ever calls me is when he is on his way home from work. I picked up the phone and he told me proudly that he was on his way home, a half an hour early. Of course I had mixed emotions. I was SO excited that he was going to be home early but my plans were now screwed!
I ran home and did my best to have things prepared before he came home, but of course, that didn’t happen.
Why did he have to come home early and foil my plans? GAH!
When we finally sat down to eat, he bit into the roast and said, “Too much pepper.” I can’t win for trying.