To be perfectly honest, the only food recipe I have is one for
disaster. My husband and I found that out the hard way. We hadn’t been
married very long, and I wanted to make a delicious home-cooked meal of steak
and potatoes. I put the steak under the broiler, waited a reasonable
amount of time and then opened my oven door to 12-inch flames. I
screamed, what else could I do, but my husband simply strolled over to
the fire and blew it out. In his sweet way he told me it would be fine,
we could eat the potatoes. He also said, don’t worry about cooking
anymore, we could eat out.
So over time our recipes for dinner came from the restaurants. When we dine out, we relax into our table and, as everyone knows to do, we look to mind our own business. But sometimes the tables are very close together, and being that my husband and I are both therapists, listening to what people have to say is what we do. In fact, our business really is minding other people’s business, so inevitably we may find ourselves paying attention as it becomes clear that the conversation at the next table is about to go up in flames, just like my steak. The other night we were at one of our favorite Italian restaurants. As soon as the waiter took our order we could hear it starting just a few feet away. The woman began.
I am not a social butterfly. I can dress, dazzle, chat, and spin with the best of them, but by nature, I am a loner; it’s who I am and I embrace that label. I relish my solo evenings.
Since I've recently become single, I find myself going places and doing things that I normally wouldn't do all in the name of meeting women. This usually means after a long tiring day of work I'll force myself to visit a bar or a party that I normally wouldn't go to. The most recent of these events was when my work hosted a networking event called "Girls in Tech." As you might have guessed, it's for women in the tech industry.
An age-old motto employed by wise women everywhere when their
60-something husbands return from the work wars to create projects from
their home office.
We’d finally made it all the way to Park Slope, it was less than warm, and I’m pretty sure I had mascara on my forehead from frantically trying to fix my make-up on the subway. You can imagine my dismay when the only boy I really wanted to see on my trip to New York wasn’t even home. But we couldn’t just call him! It would be much better if we ‘just happened to be in the neighborhood’. “They can’t be far. Their car is here!” But how were we gonna kill an hour in the middle of residential nowhere in 20 degree weather? That’s when we found it. BAR TANO. A little haven of happiness with pressed tin walls and a zinc bar.