A Busy Christmas Dinner w Peter

Date: 11/30/2019

I was home for Christmas vacation. Mum kicked me out of her home basically, saying she needed "me time," and I needed to move out. We were literally just playing backgammon- and a good game at that! I protest, mentioning how Cecil is in the living room, still actively living with her, and I was just home for the holidays. She gives me some bullshit excuse. It's dark outside, and cold. I take the bus to meet Peter in town. He takes me to a very fancy and expensive restaurant for dinner. The restaurant is interestingly themed, with menus that involved the lifting of flaps and pullaway reveal portions. The menus were on a tactile book that use to contain recipes, I am told. Our waitress, pirate-witch themed, goes through our menu with us. If I try to open a flap or pull coins off to reveal what's underneath, she smacks my hand and tels me to wait. There are no visible words, just thick, elegant pages. I have no idea what's on the menu, but I'm excited to look at it! She pulls out a tiny cauldron, pulls off one of the pullaway coins, what looks like an old, word-less toonie; and throws it in her cauldron for a quick spell. Finally, she leaves. There's a wedding going on, and some waitresses approach, singing about the bride. I quietly inform them I think they've made a mistake, and that we are not the wedding party. One waitress rudely replies, "We know." I guess it's a part of an elaborate dance or something, because the wedding party is far behind us, to the right. Peter excuses himself for a millisecond. Our waitress returns and takes our menus. I haven't had time to look at mine. I want to text Harriet about this, and also about the situation with my mom. Peter returns, and before I can do anything, he engages me by showing me a bowtie, tied around his neck with two very long hair elastics. He is so proud of this, though he apparently "borrowed" it from the doorman- with all intentions of giving it back, of course! It's good to see him so smiley and happy. Another waitress, a thin woman with little to no costume, approaches. She holds out her hand and asks Peter for the bowtie. He complies, a little dejected, and hands her a $5, telling her that's for the doorman. Before we can discuss this, our food arrives. It looks bland and nutritionless, hidden under heaps of gravy or cranberry sauce. Peter and I exchange a few words. Mostly it's me thanking him for letting me spend the night at his place, and saying how I will need to go back to my mum's for my clothes. I think to myself that I may also need to go to the store; I feel a coldsore coming on. Our waitress plops herself down across from me. She pulls my plate over to her, chatting away, and begins to eat my food. "Oh, have you tried the biscuit with the cranberry? Mmm. It's so good." "No," I start, annoyed, "I haven't. I haven't been able to try anything, yet." "Oh, you must. It's so good." She's eaten like 1/5 the plate, at this point. I say something to the effect of, "I may be small, but I do eat a lot. I would like to eat all of the food on my plate mhself." But like obvi much stronger. She sasses me back, feeling I'm offending her rights. She tells me that the waitstaff depend on these bits of food. She turns my plate back to me and storms off. Something(/s)/one called a Cherry Bomb now sits across from us. Peter and I muse how odd it would be if we were just making this situation up. Perhaps walking around the local dollar store with socks that talk, uttering the same two catch phrases.