A Glass of Scotch

Friday was my birthday. The Posette took me to a Brazilian steakhouse because, well, do I really need to explain that decision? People walk up to your table and give you meat. Almost continuously. It's a little bit what I imagine heaven to be like.*

*Or how a vegan imagines hell. It's all a matter of perspective.

Anyway, the Posette obviously can't have any alcohol right now. In the spirit of teamwork, I'm cutting back my own drinking, but I'm still going to enjoy a glass or two on my birthday. She says she doesn't mind, and it didn't feel like it was one of those girl traps.*

*Memo to guys: pretty much everything is a trap. If she wants to be mad at you, she has ample justification, and you really only have yourself to blame. She could just pick one of the many stupid things you have done at random from the very, very long list she keeps in her purse. You could go into her purse and steal that list, but A) you'd end up touching a purse, B) she's committed that list to memory anyway, and C) you will get caught. Men memorize baseball statistics, women memorize every event in their relationship. The lesson here, as always, is that men are stupid.

So, we're sitting in one of the greatest places on earth, and I decide to order a glass of scotch. I love scotch more than I probably should, and I was looking forward to a nice glass with my dinner. The waitress comes by to take my drink order. I ask for scotch and she offers me Crown Royal. Which is not a scotch.

I ask if they have any single malt scotches, and then the waitress informs me that she has never heard of single malt scotch and they don't have any. Now, I don't expect the waitress to be conversant with every drink on the menu, but how can you work in a steak restaurant and have never even heard of scotch? I can't be the first person to have ordered scotch, right?

Eventually, she has a conversation with a bartender, who gives her a drink menu, and I'm able to order a drink with a name starting in Glen. Which was delicious.

A new waiter delivered our drinks and then our food. In fact, we didn't see our waitress again for the rest of the meal. Hopefully, she was abducted by agents who sent her to a Scotch Re-education Camp. Maybe there she can learn the difference between scotch and Canadian whiskey.

I realize that going forward, I'm the least important person in this household. In a way, I'm really looking forward to that -- there is virtue in putting other people before yourself. Sure, I'll still have interests and personal goals and all that, but the family comes first. They are more important than I am, and I think that's really cool.

Which is why on my birthday, the one day on the calendar that is about me, I want my waitress to bring me a drink and not argue with me about the existence of single malt scotch. Yes, it exists. Yes, I want a glass. I don't think that's too much too ask.