Wow. Happy belated Easter everyone! Did you have fun last Sunday? Did ya? Did ya hang out with friends and family? Did your little ones get all stir crazy and shit from the sugar and candy and drive you absolutely bonkers? If not, then please stop reading this post immediately. Cuz Easter kinda kicked my ass. Well, Easter brunch that is.
For the past couple of years, my husband and son and my parents and I have gone down to the Griswold Inn in Essex, CT for a good dose of all-you-can-eat dining, history, and a picturesque little New England town by the river. And I LOVES me some Essex. Been going there ever since I was 17, when I dated a boy who didn’t have a driver’s license, but had a boat at the local yacht club he used to take me out on. So what if he dropped me like a bad habit the minute he got back to boarding school. He was adorable and he’s probably kicking himself for letting me go today…right? (I don’t want to hear the truth, so keep it to yourself).
Ok, anyhoo…forget about
Doug Harris I can’t remember his name and let’s get back to Easter brunch at the Gris.
The Gris is a CT landmark that began as an inn in 1776…and it’s still offers lodging and fine dining today. And for Easter brunch, we booked a table for five in their historic “Covered Bridge Room.” We sat down, and after we ordered a nice round of cocktails, we proceeded to go up to the buffet. And I fuc&%ing H-A-T-E buffets, except for this one. Because it’s awesome. But of course, the minute we filled our plates and sat down to stuff our fat faces — the little girl a couple tables down started fussing. Make that SCREECHING. (You moms know EXACTLY what I’m talking about).
So what does the hubster do?? He takes a bite of food and then turns his head to STARE at the screeching little girl and her poor parents who were trying to salvage the last five minutes of their Easter meal. I yelled at him to stop staring (to which he replied he wasn’t…yeah right), and then I couldn’t help but acknowledge out loud that I felt SO SO bad for the mom. Cuz all she kept doing was glaring at the husband and saying, “Get her out of here! Get here out of here NOW!” (Been there honey…I feel your pain).
Ok, so the husband finally wised up and took the screeching toddler outside and then they paid their bill and left. But then it was time for second helpings at the buffet. And the hubster offered to take little dude up there for a fresh Belgian waffle…which I thought was pretty friggin’ great. Until I glanced over in line and saw the two of them standing there. The hubs was totally oblivious to anything other than the food…and little dude had his finger jammed 3/4 of the way up his nose. In the buffet line. Where people were waiting for their FOOD. I seriously wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Might as well add boogers to the list of reasons why I loathe buffets.
Ok, so little dude finished digging for gold and ate his food and we all had a nice meal and everything was roses and fuc&%ing unicorns again. Until he announced that he needed to go to the bathroom — and he need to go POOP. I, of course, pretended not to hear him and kept sipping my wine, because he’d been out of school for the past week on antibiotics with a sinus infection and I’d kinda had my share of wiping butts for the next five or ten years.
So the hubster took him to the bathroom…and I sipped my wine…but as soon as they got back, I couldn’t wait to ask what the consistency and color of the poop was. You know, because I’m a mom and the kid has been sick and these are things I need to know. Turns out the poop was normal and totally fine (thank GAWD), and so we finished up and then discussed what to do after brunch. Of course, my mother and I had already devised a plan. While the boys were in the bathroom, we decided that my mom’s “feet hurt way too bad” to walk around the quaint town of Essex, so it would be better for the boys to go on a walk while we…you know…ordered just ONE more wine from the bar.
And that’s all I remember.
Again, Happy belated Easter everyone. Hope yours was great and booger-free.