And I was not a pacifist. Here's the story.
Last week, after not seeing my wife for about three days( because we're both up @ 5 am and in bed @ some point past 11 PM), we decided that we were going to go a date. Screw the schedule. It was, as the kiddies say, must overdue.
We went to a really nice little restaurant in German Village: Five stars, probably a little over priced. We sat @ our favorite table and started to talk about everything in that way you do when you realize, suddenly, that you're actually married to the person you're in love with.
This is all before I started lobbing food, of course. The story continues under the fold.....
We ordered a pretty good bottle of wine, a cheese plate appetizer for her, Calamari & Shrimp for me. We skipped the main course, and started to look over the dessert menu. One of the nice things about [finally] having some money, I've noticed, is that I'm no longer intimidated into ordering big @ expensive restaurants. I order what I want, leave a good tip, and try to appreciate the excellent service.
So anyway, as we're talking, there's a guy across the way getting very drunk and talk very, very loudly. I'm not going to go into the details of what he was talking about, but he was an equal opportunity racist. He had something for everybody, and ended with the suggestion that we kill some 100 million people 'to make a point'.
As I was sorta daydreaming about lobbing a piece of shrimp at him, the shrimp, of it's own volation(I swear!), seemed to jump out of my hand and in his general direction. I don't know what happened: it just arched gracefully through the air some twenty feet and landed on the right breast pocket of his suit, along with it's creamy sauce.
He looked down @ it, looked up @ me(and my wife, who's face had gone white: her pupils dilated @ what I'd done), and said
"heyyyy..."
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry. I was gesturing with the shrimp, and it flew out of my hand"
"well..."
"no, really, I'm sorry. Let me buy you a drink. What are you drinking? White Zin? A Sprintzer?"
[at this point, my wife's face is red: but she's also shaking from holding in her laughter]
So, anyway, I somehow avoid further interactions with the guy: he's strangely quite for the rest of the night. My wife has stopped kicking me under the table. I figure I'm getting off scott free: I might even get laid tonight.
But when it's time for the guy to leave: he's got his pride to protect: he's with his friend: and he was talking really tough before. So he saunders over to our table, friend in tow, and tries to stand over me. I stand up before he can do it, walk over to him, and shake his hand.
Now, we're shaking hands, but we're not really being friendly. He says something. I say something back. We smile. we do it again. He raises his voice.
I tell him that it's not appropriate to raise his voice inside. However, if he'd like to step outside, I'll be happy to answer whatever he has. To say. He says that if we go outside, his friend will be coming.
I suggest that he call some more friends: I can wait.
He declines.
I go back to the table, and now I'm actually afraid for the first time. Did I just ruin a nice night? Is **** regretting her life? Is this one of the straws being laid on the camels back of my marriage? [And the following, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love my wife. ]
"I love being married to you"
"Why? Because I act like a 16 years old with a chip on his shoulder?"
"No, because my dad wouldn't have let him get away with that shit either."
"Hmm. Well, I'm glad I was as big as he was."
"No, I don't think that's what he saw."
what'd he see?"
"I think he saw willingness"
So we had two desserts, called a cab, and got up @ 4 the next morning so we could have breakfast together. I have to say, it was a beautiful night.