Yep, We’re THAT Table


We totally are. If you have ever been a server at any type of dining establishment, you know the type I’m talking about.

The type who focus more on keeping a small child calm more than anything, so yes, please bring more bread/ milk/crackers/ napkins, Thank you.

The type who leaves an enormous mess. This one is the problem for me. Despite the fact that I realize I am most definitely on the restaurant’s payroll, I insist on cleaning up after the baby. Or dividing our debris into trash, silverware, and plates, all neatly stacked in a way they can easily be separated without the server having to schlep through half-eaten food. I know how it is. I’ve been there. I will also be found bent over and using a napkin to try to pick up all of the mess we now leave on the floor since Zachy started eating with us. This may seem conscientious and polite of me, but it never comes without some bickering from my hubster, who is embarrassed that his wife is trying to clean the floor.
Last week, I tried to let it go. We were at Texas Roadhouse, home of the peanut shells on the floor. We had a great server who helped us to appease Zach so we could get through our meal. And Zach…..ohmigod. Zach would take a bite and throw the rest. Over and over until we decided we were finished and it was time to go. And John talked me into just leaving the mess. I hurried out of the restaurant like I had committed a crime. And I felt so badly that I felt compelled, once in the car, to fake leaving my phone on the table so I could go back in and leave an extra $20 along with the 20% John had already left. This is why we don’t eat out that often: I can’t afford to compensate for my kids.
I am hereby proposing that restaurants give dropcloths for babes in highchairs. Or we could invent a highchair with a huge saucer around it to catch food. That way moms like me could not die of embarrassment. Nor would John from his wife cleaning the floor.


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