Or, a Reality Show without Cameras

We’ve tried a few times to get into Pomodoro East but have never been able to find a parking spot. Seems the best time to go is Monday night. Tonight was the night for some serious pasta—or pizza in Liam’s case.

As you might imagine, most dinners out end in giggles on my part, but sometimes the conversation is just too funny not to share. Tonight’s episode was one of those times. We scoured the menu, flinging jabs at each other about food choices.

“Here’s a huge steak. That sounds about right for you.”

“I bet you want this girlie salad thing.”

We settled on vegetable lasagna for me, and roasted chicken pizza with mushrooms for Liam. Before I delve into the conversation, let me state for the record that the lasagna was absolutely delicious. Nothing that follows is meant to harm the reputation of Pomodoro East or their delicious vegetable lasagna in any way.

Now, on with the show.

I noticed Liam pulling the crust off the pizza and leaving the good stuff on his plate. Concerned, I asked, “Is the chicken on that pizza good?”

“Yeah, but I’m off mushrooms.”

Boggled, I replied, “The menu said there’d be mushrooms. Didn’t you read that part?”

“I’m eating everything but the mushrooms. Calm down, woman.”

“Why don’t you just pick the mushrooms off instead of tearing the whole thing apart?”

“The crust is amazing. The chicken is good, but it sucks compared to this crust. I don’t even like crust. How’s your lasagna? Does it have chicken in it?”

“It’s vegetable lasagna.”

He froze, torn pizza hovering over his plate. “No meat? How can you eat lasagna with no meat?”

“It’s really good; don’t worry.”

“You should send it back. Who makes lasagna with no meat in it? Not even a little bit?”

“I can’t send it back just because it has no meat, babe. I ordered vegetable lasagna. I knew what I was getting.”

He thought for a minute, obviously trying to work around the whole “get what you ask for thing.”

“You should tell them it’s broken. I’ll tell them. We’ll get you a real lasagna.”

After looking around the restaurant for the server with no luck, he just called out, “Excuse me. My wife’s lasagna is broken. We require a new one with meat in it, please.”

“Stop that,” I hissed. “It’s really good. I don’t need the meat to have a meal, you goof.”

He stared at the half-eaten food on my plate and shook his head. “It’s just a salad. A warm, cheesy salad. Gross.”