November flash tale - "Customer" 👶😋🍴

Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃 Seems appropriate to have a foody story today. And if you're not celebrating, then Happy Flash Tale! 😊

San Diego, CA

I love my husband. Let me put that up front. I love him to bits.

But he has always been an embarrassment in restaurants. Whether it’s fish at The Marine Room or steak at Larsen’s, he’s never satisfied.

I want the dressing on the side. If it’s not on the side, I will send it back.

Why this need, this compulsion, to whine like a petulant little boy, to throw his weight around like a schoolyard bully? I could well imagine restaurants around the city putting his photo up behind the bar; beware this difficult customer. He was never like this with the children. He wasn’t a shark in business or in the bedroom. The only time I saw Jasper be rude, demonstrate his special brand of red-faced impatience and pinched-nose fussiness, was when we ate out.

This wine is obviously corked. Now, you can keep trying to persuade me that it’s not, or you can bring a new bottle. I suggest the latter.

How red my face would get! And how much angrier Jasper would become, when I tried to make peace with the waitress, when I tried to smooth all those ruffled feathers. So many times on leaving restaurants, I would pretend to forget my pocketbook, my phone, whatever was most plausible, as a way to leave a handsome cash tip. A reward, I suppose, for the server putting my with Jasper’s latest tantrum.

“Be happy with what you’ve got”, girlfriends have told me. “It could be worse. Look at my Arthur, remember Danny!”

And yes, I knew that. There are bigger problems in marriage. Bigger quarrels, bigger humiliations.

“But why does he do it?” I would complain. “Why can’t he just behave?”

My girlfriends told me that Jasper was too old to change, an old dog with the oldest of tricks.

And that’s when I remembered a girl from Kentucky I met at summer camp, all those years ago. I remembered the story she told around the campfire. Of course, like me, she wouldn’t be a girl anymore. I found her number and made the call. I tell her about Jasper, the man who can’t seem to mind his P’s and Q’s.

“Heavens to Betsy! You remember about my little spell? Truth be told, I’m mostly retired.”

There was a pause that felt heavy on the line, I could imagine her licking her lips, the way she used to do when we were young, that little obsessive movement that told me she was thinking hard.

Because after all, she’s retired. Mostly.

“I’ll have a word with my daughter. She’s so busy in college…” She dropped the name of an Ivy League school as if it was nothing, as if it was everything. “With the holidays coming up, maybe…”

Maybe? Absolutely.

Today, I look across the table at Jasper, and I think that my old friend was indulging in some theater, teasing me with maybes and mostly’s. Because as it turns out, fixing Jasper’s problem was, for my friend’s daughter, a piece of cake.

No, don’t misunderstand. It’s not a literal cake.

The food that Jasper enjoys now is far mushier. And he’s so much happier this way! Who would have imagined, Jasper ever being content with me choosing food for him? Who could have even conceived of my husband accepting the spoonful of food from my hand, and then opening his mouth hungrily for more? Grunting and gurgling with enthusiasm. Waving his chubby little hands. Kicking his adorable little feet.

And thing is, while the food is mushy, it’s still haute cuisine. For lunch today, Jasper enjoyed a blend of quinoa, butternut squash, kale, and apple. All organic. And later, when he wakes up from his nap, he’ll enjoy a cold-pressed smoothie. The strawberry banana with coconut milk perhaps, or the purple carrot acai bowl with chia.

Bless his heart, he makes quite a mess, but that’s what bibs are for. That’s what Mommy is for, wiping his perfect little face. And yes, the spell took a few years off me as well, and while I try not to be vain, it’s nice to get so many compliments. Besides, I need the energy of my twenties, I have a bouncing baby boy after all.

Today the waitress put a hand to her chest. “How precious!”

I smiled. “Thank you.” I deliver another spoonful of pureed food to Jasper’s hungry mouth. “He’s a good eater,” I say.

The waitress nods and beams. “What a hungry little guy! Cute as a button!”

I don’t have to blush in restaurants anymore, not unless it’s from being proud as a peacock.

“Well,” says the waitress, “I’m glad we have such a happy customer.”

I look at Jasper. If he could remember the past, if he had an idea of what I’ve done to him, he would be spitting with rage. But all I see in his wide blue eyes is innocence and a fresh start. There’s not a hint of embarrassment on his face. Good thing too; there’s no room for blushes on those chubby cheeks, not when they’re covered in pumpkin and spinach!

THE END

A restaurant has a fitting solution when a customer has the most childish of tantrums about the food – Sebtomato

An angry husband needs to have his tirades reduced to a Toddler's tantrum's - Alexander