It’s Parents Night Out at the Gymnastics Academy. And let’s be honest, that might be one of the biggest reasons I enroll my children in gymnastics at all. The one evening off a month. Oh, and physical activity and confidence. Right. Those also.
For my hours of solitude, I’ve chosen a native New York restaurant in town, which used to be Ruby Tuesdays, which we frequented at least once a week during my first pregnancy because never in my life have I been more irrationally in love with croutons than when I was growing Tucker.
But then Tucker was born, I stopped needing Ruby’s croutons on an obsessive basis, and the whole place shut down. I try not to carry too much responsibility for this foreclosure.
The new restaurant seems to have a very extensive menu based on every single thing you can do with wings sauce and blue cheese crumbles. Apparently you can do a lot with those ingredients.
But the thing is, there’s some kind of sports banquet happening in the dining room right next to mine. And the athletes all seem to be in first and second grade – ages I am all too familiar with. Ages I left at the gym for Parents’ Night Out. Ya’ll take your happy rowdy-crowd to Chuck e. Cheese. I. Did not. Sign up. For This.
But I might be the problem in this scene. Maybe I need to throw back a shot of wings sauce.