Corn Dogs...and Dogs

Home. Lovely loud restaurant on a busy corner in the Castro. Mmmm....comfort food. First pregnancy binge. My husband ordered a spinach salad appetizer. Pregnant Mama? "I'll have the corn dog appetizer please". 8 mini corn-dogs. There is nothing more embarrassing than sitting in front of a plate of 7 naked corn-sticks. Except for one thing...

A Saturday night in the Castro brings some fantastic people-watching. Right next to us, the man wearing an "Everyone loves an Asian boy" t-shirt turns to his date and tells him "I do have the butterfly wings. I'll wear those." And then, what's this walking through the restaurant? A woman....and her DOG? Plain as day, here she comes to take a seat! With a little white fluffy dog on a leash. In the carpeted, $20/plate restaurant. While I'm eating my corn dogs?! Hello?! Health code violation??? Now granted, I don't like animals. I do like Rylee. But other than that, I pretty much hate fuzzy creatures that can't speak. And yet....there is still NO reason for a woman to waltz into a nice restaurant on a Saturday night with a DOG. So there I sit, 7 and 3/4 weeks pregnant and not the most rational human being at this point. And I am FUMING. I start furiously telling Sean "She can't have a DOG in here! This is a direct violation of health code! Who does she think she is?! Where is our waiter?" I am PISSED. Hormonal, maybe. But losing it. Sean starts trying to calm me down. Sean. My husband who often screams at people while driving, refused to pay the ladies at the nail salon when they charged him extra for "buffing", frequently gives waiters/taxi drivers/retail workers/the automated voice on the phone/ANYBODY a piece of his mind.....THAT husband starts telling ME to calm down. "Maybe she's lonely. And the dog is all she has" he says. "Then she should stay home and be lonely where her dog belongs. This is a restaurant. We are going to pay more than $50 for dinner. This is a health code vi-o-lation! WHERE is the manager?!" And that is when my husband (MY husband, who has caused me to walk out of stores/restaurants/nail salons as he's yelling at people like he's some tough guy from Jersey) says to me "Sweetheart, please don't embarrass me. You're over-reacting, and causing a scene."

I have never in my wildest dreams come close to embarrassing my husband. Until tonight. So there I was, laughing at my pregnant/hormonal/wildly psychotic self. And eating the last corn-dog.

You should have seen the note I left for our waiter on the back of our receipt ;)