Lunch with Mom

We arrive at the Polo Grill, late, grumpy, argue-y. I'm not pleased about having been pulled over and given a ticket. I'm angry at myself. Dawn's angry at me too, but at least she has someone at whom to direct her anger. Mine's got nowhere else to go.

The subject of the ticket comes up quickly after we greet and seat. Dad immediately wonders why I was even on that particular stretch of road in the first place. Why didn't I take 95 down to exit such and such?

Well, fuck me, I don't know why I didn't go a different way, okay? How exactly are you helping things by asking me this? Thankfully Main is a little more perceptive, announcing that it's likely a sore subject and we should maybe just move on to discussing something else.

Dawn orders about the only vegetarian thing on the menu, the spinach-artichoke dip. I opt for the étouffée. The name intrigues my sister, who asks me what étouffée is. Although I just ordered it, I really don't know what it is. It's got crawfish in it. It's a cajun thing, a gumbo thing, spicy, rice maybe, is all I know. I have to refer back to the menu for a better description. I come to the conclusion that I ordered it because it's called étouffée.

Or, I suppose, maybe, because, how often are you out somewhere and étouffée is an option on the menu? Don't you like have to jump at the chance, when you can?