So, let me begin by expressing my need to come to you, my
friends, in confession of yet more of my fallacies. I feel I owe some penance, seeing as how I
have managed to go a ridiculously long time without writing (not a global
tragedy, I know, but still….), thus once again proving how easily distracted I
am and how much I suck at my whole “word of the year” thing – that word being discipline. Um, yeah….not so much.
Summer just throws me off completely. The constant lack of structure and changes to
daily schedules makes my brain hurt and leaves me, at times, incapable of
rational thought. On the flip side, we
are having an incredible fun-filled and active summer season, so there’s
that.
For example, last week, Gregg and I got to have an impromptu
date night – on a Tuesday! I wasn't as
fascinated by the day of the week as much as he was, but he kept saying, “It’s
a Tuesday evening,” so I thought it merited mentioning. Maybe there’s a marriage or date night clause
of which I am unaware stating what an exceptional circumstance this is. He may know something I don’t here. If any of you are aware of such a
distinction, please feel free to enlighten me.
I’m always up for learning something new.
I digress.
Back to Tuesday Date Night.
Both boys were unexpectedly invited to last-minute
sleepovers at friends’ houses, so I called my parents, wrangled a grandparent
slumber party invite for the Bug, and texted Gregg to be ready for a date night
extravaganza (ok, I didn't use exactly those words – he rolls his eyes at
overly-flowery phrasing, and let’s face it, extravaganza sets the bar a bit
high for a week night dinner date……unless it’s in Paris. Then extravaganza is exactly the right word, don’t
you think?). We got all the dependents
to their respective locations, changed clothes (I even wore a dress), and
headed to a lovely local restaurant downtown.
It’s one of those places we rarely go because, well, kids. After a few stuttering starts at attempted
conversation (it always takes us a few minutes to warm up and get going in the
cadence of normal adult conversation. We’re
so used to all of the start/stop interruptions and distractions that it takes
us a few tries to string together multiple complete sentences. Sometimes, I just stop talking in the middle
of a story, like there’s a phantom interruption. Which, to be honest, I don’t think is a real
thing. Like phantom limb pain – that’s a
real thing. It is, trust me. My thing is probably just more proof that my
attention span is ridiculously lacking….a fact made more obvious when there are
no children around to blame).
That may be the single most ridiculous rabbit trail of my
life…..I apologize. Especially to any
phantom limb pain sufferers. I really
wasn't trying to be flippant.
And now I’m lost. Oh….dinner
conversation. Hang in there. I promise I have a point. Or at least an end to the story.
We were thoroughly enjoying our evening out – drinks,
appetizers, a bubbly waitress named Candy (I jest not – she was delightful,
even though I couldn't stop singing under my breath, “My name is Candy and I
taste so sweet; you get a cavity each time we meet…” Anyone? Other children of
the 80’s and 90’s? Anyone at all?). I even held on to enough self-control to
order salad instead of steak smothered in blue cheese (discipline finally
kicking in). Not only did I order salad,
but I chose to forgo the dressing and just asked for lemon slices. My self-control knew no bounds. Then came the hiccup. Candy looked at me with the sweetest (ha!),
most helpful expression and asked, “Is lime ok?” She stood there, pen poised above her tablet,
anticipating my affirmative response, ready to bounce back to the kitchen and place
our simple order.
So, now I had a quandary.
Because lime is actually not ok.
It’s not the same, not really, and if I had wanted lime on
my salad I would have asked for it. Just
like on the rare occasions I order a Coke, I want a Coke….and, no, Pepsi won’t
work. And when I introduce myself as
Rebecca, that’s my name. The one I
answer to and have my whole life. So,
no, you may not call me Becky (I’m always surprised when people ask this. It makes no sense. Do you want people to substitute for your
name?).
I sat, mentally arguing with myself. Do I refuse the lime substitution? Do I change my order to a less healthy
dressing choice? Do I forget the whole
salad thing and order the steak? Or do I
just settle for something I didn't really choose, accepting it this time, thus
making Candy’s job easier and preventing any more time out of date night
conversation? This particular restaurant
does not have lemons, something I learned on a Girls’ Night a couple of years
ago (and actually still get made fun of for when someone remembers it, because
that time I did make it a hill to die on, engaging in the Unacceptable
Substitutions lecture with our poor waitress that night), I had just forgotten that
fact since we hadn't eaten there in so long (which, now that I think about it,
may have been intentional on the part of my girlfriends or the restaurant
itself, given the intensity of my lemon tantrum. If memory serves, I think one of them
actually ended up popping down the street to the store to sneak lemons in to
me. Not one of my best moments, I am
aware.).
You’ll be relieved (or perhaps bored) to know I took the
road less argued this particular evening.
I smiled pleasantly, nodded at Candy, and decided I could survive a
lime-sprinkled salad for once. It’s date
night, after all. On a Tuesday. Why rock the boat?
Why indeed?
How many times have we dealt with the substitution
crossroads? Have you had those
days? Those times when you had your
heart set on something, or your path set a certain direction, and time or circumstances
or people derailed you with an offer of something….less, and the expectation
that it should be ok. Sometimes, we need
to bend, and to give someone else’s suggestion the priority. But other times….. There are hills to die on
and expectations we should hang on to no matter what. There are days when the search for the
genuine trumps a surrogate every time, and when generic isn't going to cut
it. Our hearts beat for true love, joy
and fulfillment, and nothing else will do.
Our souls are made for legitimate relationship – with Father, with others
who have a positive presence and with intimacy that cannot be faked…..not for
long, anyway. Our hope is built and our
faith holds strong when we refuse to settle for imitations or seek counterfeit
comfort.
Candy skipped off to the kitchen, pleased with uncomplicated
table service. I was a little
disappointed, but also proud of my decision to be an adult and accommodating. I looked across the table at my handsome
husband, and before I could speak, he lifted his hands up, shrugged his
shoulders and said, “What’s that about?
Why do they assume lemons and limes are interchangeable? I mean, it’s like Pepsi and Coke. Not the same.
Not the same at all….” Followed by, “You should write a blog about this,
babe. Seriously. Lemons vs limes and all the annoying
substitution attempts out there.”
I fell in love with him all over again. Just when I think he can’t surprise me…..BAM! The power of Tuesday Date Night manifests. He totally gets me.
Plus, it’s the first time he’s ever weighed in on a
blog. So, naturally, I was inclined to
acquiesce to his request. Please tell me
someone got that reference.
Solidarity, sisters.
Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby.
