One of my favorite places to visit is Plymouth. Wife and I went there on a spur of the moment when we started dating. It’s still one of our favorite places to go and spend a day or two.
Our itinerary has changed since we’ve been blessed with the little Miracles of Christ. It’s been less browsing in wine stores and more hustling through whatever we’re doing so we can be back at the hotel before (perish the thought) the pool closes.
One particular hostage crisis occurred with The Oppressed on a day that was balanced with adult and child activities. The Wife and I decided we would have a small lunch during the day, not too much. We had plans for dinner. Wife and I noticed a French restaurant across the street from where we were staying. There was a menu posted outside. We looked at the menu and then looked at each other. Wife is a Foodie. She loves restaurants, nice restaurants, restaurants where the waitstaff walks up to your table dressed up in a nice suit and, off the top of their head, recites the specials, including where it came from, what it’s cooked in and how it’s presented.
Wife and I pretty much knew what we were going to order. We noticed it pleased God that this restaurant should offer some dishes the Miracles of Christ would enjoy. Perfect. It was going to be another trip to Plymouth capped off with a night at a restaurant we hadn’t yet tried. I could taste the Grand Marnier right there.
We headed downtown for our days activities and The Oppressed saw Domino’s. The look on her face said it all.
“Can we go to Domino’s?”
“No. We decided where we’re going.”
“I want to go to Domino’s”
“We’ll be back here another time. We can do Domino’s then.”
“But I don’t want to go to that place.”
The barrage had started. Wife and I didn’t expect this attack but it wasn’t the first. We met the initial charge with redirection. From there, we recalled the items on the menu and told her of all the offerings from the bill of fare. Things she herself loved. Things she had been constantly asking for. Things you couldn’t get at a pizza shop and we could get pizza anytime back home, and we have. We don’t have a restaurant like this where we live. This is our chance.
Wife and I offered a Thanksgiving Cornucopia of reasons why our wisdom had led us to this restaurant just as God had led the Pilgrims to Plymouth centuries ago. After a day of travelling and sightseeing, we would enjoy a feast of plenty and give thanks for the bounty the nice people in nice suits would be placing before us.
The oppressed wasn’t having it. She continued to batter us like that first winter of 1620-21. I was noticing the shelter of our reasons that protected us from the harsh winds and punishing weather of an elementary school-child and her demand for a pizza she had seen on TV were overpowering our plans for dinner. My vision of enjoying an appetizer and then a drink with my wife despite pestering children was going up in a flambé. The elements were punishing.
That evening, we sat down to a large pizza served with buffalo wings, paired with a variety of soft drinks served by the cup.