Talking about food, Wednesday night, it was not my turn to pick a restaurant for dinner. Because if it had been my turn, my choice would not have been the Spanish restaurant we ended up at for dinner.
One of my problems is that my eyes have really turned to crap. I think it’s time for me to finally talk to the eye doctor about that dreaded “B” word. (That’s bifocals to any younguns reading this.) I have reading glasses that I have to wear at work when I have my contacts in because I can’t read our data books without them. I could blame it on the 2400 pages of fine print per book, with anywhere from 6 to 20 books per audit that are analyzed line per line. That’s a lot of reading of fine print. The fact that I used to be able to do it with no trouble shouldn’t scare me in the least.
But, back to my dinner.
The restaurant was dimly lit (yes, still making excuses for myself.) and the menu was all in Spanish. There were very few words I could understand. There seemed to be English subtitles to the menu, but between the lighting and my bad eyes, I couldn’t read a damn thing. For once, I was grateful I took two years of high school Spanish way back in the stone ages. I saw an entry called Pasta Con Pollo. Yep, that high school Spanish kicked in and I ordered it. The Pasta with Chicken was passable for supper and it was loads better than the snails on toast points that someone at my table ended up with for dinner. That will teach him to just point and not ask the waiter.
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