Article Contributed on: 10/18/2007 8:39:48 AM
Nothing makes me so peevish as to plan a meal out with my husband, and suddenly our cozy twosome becomes an irritating threesome. The food is ordered and has not yet arrived when along comes the unwelcome guest. He zooms in and perches on the edge of the table. I try to ignore him, but he gets right in my face. I shake him off and he continues to hover around, as if mocking me. Encounteriing a fly in a restaurant is most annoying.
I begin to whine and complain, after all, this is my pet peeve. My husband looks askance, then puts his elbow on the table and his hand over his forehead and eyes. He lets out a huge sigh, which is his way of conveying the message, "Don't make a scene." We have been down this road before.
I reach for the nearest weapon, usually the menu, and begin to swat. The fly takes cover and, just as I rest assured he has been frightened off, he zooms back in with a couple of his friends. Now I am on a serious mission. I wave my weapon wildly, hitting the stained glass chandelier overhead. It sways back and forth toward my husband's head, and I spy one of the insidious culprits resting on his left ear. I raise my menu in hot pursuit, but the food has arrrived and the waiter inquires in his most hospitable tone, "Is everything all right?" I hand over my menu with a big smile and the reassurance, "Everything is just fine," for I am an unassertive hypocrite who hates to complain for fear of offending anyone. I will deal with the pesky varmint when we are alone again.
My husband settles in to enjoy his meal while I look furtively about for the enemy to reappear. Apparently the flies don't like what we've ordered and have moved on to other patrons with more discriminating taste. I continue to talk about them behind their tiny winged backs, and I can tell by the look on my husband's face that, while flies in a retaurant may be annoying to me, I have become his pet peeve.