The Morning
The weekend continued to be disgustingly glorious, with brisk and bracing mornings, sun-drenched and comfortable daytimes, and pleasantly chilly evenings. Patrick and I woke on Monday and jumped right in the outdoor hot tub. (And by “jumped right in,” I mean we woke up, put on swimsuits, made coffee, changed the baby’s diaper, dressed him warmly, put him in the infant seat, and lugged it, towels, robes, and coffee over to the hot tub. Nothing will ever be easy again, will it? So why am I so happy all the time? I guess “easy” is overrated.)
We showered and Patrick dressed in his suit, and together we enjoyed a quick lunch of grilled-cheese-by-the-pool (which was $4.00, as opposed to grilled-cheese-in-the-restaurant, which was $8.00. My mama didn’t raise no fool.) Then Patrick took our car and headed off to do his groomsman thing (which, I believe, consisted of hanging out til it was time to go, then giving the groom a shot of whiskey and a football pat on the butt, GO TEAM.) I met up with our friend Megan (a bride-to-be herself for whom we threw a wedding shower this past Saturday), and she drove Jack and I to town, where we intended to eat lunch. Finding a place that served lunch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming proved unbelievably difficult, though, and after many false starts we finally found ourselves in the Cadillac Grille. We walked up to the hostess stand and looked at the dawdling hostess for a good couple of minutes before she came out of her (pot-induced?) haze, looked extremely startled at the sight of us, and then asked “Can I help you?” “Um” we said, put off by being asked the wrong question. (Don’t hostesses usually say “Table for two?” or “Smoking or non?”) Before we could spit out a reply, she tried again: “Did you want to eat?” Hmmm. Was this a trick question?
So, after we fumbled our way through being seated (“Dude,” says the hostess, “here is a booth, but like, the sun will totally be in your eyes on one side. Do you, like, want to sit on the same side?”), we were greeted by an equally stoned and much more miserable waitress. I have never seen a person less happy to be serving me food.* Which she didn’t get around to doing for at least forty-five minutes, even though we ordered simple sandwiches, and so Jack was just waking up and getting grumpy as the plates landed on the table. We wolfed down half, wrapped the rest up, and hurried home to feed the now furious infant. After getting changed quickly in the hotel room, the three of us headed to the outdoor venue where the wedding would take place. And what a stunning event it would be . . .
*I was a waitress for years. I know it’s hard work, but everybody knows, smiles get you more money! Why be run off your feet for pennies?**
**I still tipped her 20%. I hated being a waitress.