Today was Matt’s birthday. My mom was in town and took us all out for lunch.
We didn’t get all dressed-up or anything, but still, I’ve come to expect a certain level of decorum when we are eating somewhere other than off the basement floor in front of the TV.
For example, when we eat at the dining room table, I expect Logan to keep his legs under the table, his elbows off the table, and his mouth closed when chewing. Also, no talking with your mouth full. When we are at restaurants, I expect him to try and keep his voice down. Apparently, however, I should be expecting a lot more.
We’d been sitting in our booth, waiting for our food, when Logan decided to change the topic of conversation to our goats. Y’know, the resident perverts of the pasture.
“Goaty grabs Perfect JUST LIKE THIS and DOES THIS!” Logan exclaimed, grabbing the table and then standing up, sitting back down, standing back up, sitting back down…in rapid succession.
I stared at him, blankly….
What is my child doing? …In a restaurant?!
It was that same sense of surreal quite that happens with the first, deafening snow of the season…when the silence is so thick you can touch it. That was me, in the restaurant, watching my son hump a table.
“Is he impersonating our goats humping?” I asked Matt, calmly, trying not to draw any additional attention to our table…on the off-chance we didn’t already have the full attention of every other person at The Whistle Stop.
“Yep. Yes he is. And he looks pretty happy, too ” Matt said.
And that’s when I said the words I’m pretty sure I never, ever expected to have to say in my entire life:
“Logan, honey, please stop humping the table; we don’t do that in restaurants.”