~ The Old South Mountain Inn ~

My Captain took me to dinner tonight.

We drove an hour to the historical Old South Mountain Inn, which sits atop…er…South Mountain.  It’s right on the Appalachian trail, very close to the first Washington Monument.   It’s a romantic century-old stone building with walls a couple of feet thick, heavy drapes, wingback chairs, wooden floors…TONS of history.   A special place, it had exactly the romance I needed.

We’ve not seen much of each other lately, and we were pining.

Ok, I was pining.  (read: whining)

I had put on a pretty flowered skirt and applied (gasp) a little make-up.  I have to be careful with make-up…I’m not very good at it, don’t do it often, and my kids tell me I look like a clown.

I’m not entirely sure they were referring to the make-up when they made the clown comment, but I let it slide.

Anyway, my point is that I took a small amount of effort into my appearance so that I might, if not dazzle, then at the very least, not embarrass My Captain at this nice restaurant on this romantic dinner.

Our meals were wonderful.  I had a fantastic French Onion Soup that I shared with My Captain.

French Onion Soup is not easy to eat.  The melted cheese on the top makes it a challenge.  But I shared it as carefully as I could.  Still, I dripped quite a bit of it on the linen tablecloth in my efforts to get the spoon to My Captain’s mouth.

The Filet Mignons we had were lovely.  They had been served in a red wine demi-glace…delicious.  One thing about red wine demi-glace, if you have a puddle of it on your plate when you are cutting into a hunk of beef, if you’re not careful, you might splatter some of it on the white linen tablecloth that you just dribbled French Onion Soup on.

We finished our meal.

The waiter took the empty plates.

I gazed lovingly across the table at My Captain, my belly heavy with delicious vittles, my heart full with love and appreciation.   The candlelight flickered on his face.  I marveled at this handsome man, and the fact that he is mine.

He, however, was looking down at the table with raised eyebrows…more specifically at my side of the table.

I looked down.

There were soup and demi-glace splatters, both of which were red-ish brown, all over my side of the table.  It looked like someone had slaughtered a beast where I was sitting.  I mean, it looked like I had GONE  TO TOWN on my meal…juices and sauces were everywhere.

I chewed on my lip and shifted in my seat.  Why can’t I be classy for just once in my life?? I mean, I have come to terms with the fact that I am a woman who enjoys her food…I don’t pick at things, I don’t push things around on my plate and eat like a bird.  And I don’t make excuses for the fact that I love food and eat enthusiastically.  But do I have to leave the table looking like I had decided to forego the use of hands during my meal?

I looked back over at him.  He was grinning at me, with a twinkle in his eyes and love in his face.

He’s a keeper.

But next time I’m going to order a sandwich.

The Old South Mountain Inn.  Give them a try! And Tell ’em Mama Boe sent ya.

(They’ll be like, “Who???”)