Do you have trouble decided on a place to go when you eat out, or are we the only ones? And eating out is not the only time we can’t decide. The easier the decision, the harder it is to make, it seems.
“Are we going anywhere this weekend?” Honey asks me.
“I don’t know.”
If he has asked me this once, he has asked a dozen times. Why can’t he just say, “I would like to do something this weekend?” But if he did that, he would have to say where he wants to go, and that would involve making a decision.
Men are always very decisive about which sports teams are best and what program to watch on TV, but when it comes to something as simple as picking a restaurant to eat out, they can’t decide.
Almost every time we go out, it ends up going something like this:
ME: Let’s eat out.
HIM: Okay, where do you want to go?
ME: I don’t care as long as I don’t have to cook dinner.
HIM: Okay, pick a place.
ME: What do you want to eat?
HIM: It doesn’t matter to me.
And so it goes until I finally say the name of a restaurant. I tend to favor local restaurants, not because they are better but because they are closer. I only want to eat and go home, especially on a weeknight. Eating out during the week is not a gourmet dining experience as far as I’m concerned.
Of course, if I pick the wrong place, he complains about the food. He doesn’t like chicken, he does not eat pork and he does not eat seafood or catfish. That somewhat limits the choices.
I have my prejudices against certain restaurants and I never pick them. I don’t like Olive Garden. Why? I don’t know why, something about the spaghetti sauce. “You could order something else besides a marinara sauce,” says Honey. He doesn’t argue too much though, as he really wants a steak.
“Let’s go either to Cheddar’s or to Logan’s.”
“Tell me which one.”
Eeny, meeny miny, moe – I don’t care which one, just go. Finally, I say, “Cheddar’s, if they are not too crowded.”
Every local chain has a problem of some sort. Cheddar’s is always crowded. Chili’s will let you starve to death before they bring food. Logan’s gives you peanuts, bread, a salad and a drink while you wait. By the time the food arrives, you are no longer hungry. Jim & Nick’s is never crowed, has great food and service, but they feature pork barbecue. “You can order something else,” I say. He would prefer another place.
And it goes on and on. We usually end up at Cracker Barrel, not because we love Cracker Barrel, but because it is a compromise place and we are hungry.
“Did I ask if we are going anywhere this weekend?”
“I don’t know. Did you have a place in mind?” I know he doesn’t. He wants to do something, but he doesn’t want to bother with looking for a place to go. Even though he has more free time than I do, he has important things to do, like watching sports on TV.
I guess I will find something for us to do this weekend. He will be happy because he doesn’t have to decide on anything and I will be happy because I don’t have to hear football on TV all weekend.
“Let me know when you decide where we are going.”
“I will. By the way, did you make hotel reservations for next weekend?” We have been planning this trip for a year. I told him that he is responsible for the hotel reservations and I am responsible for the event registration.
“You didn’t tell me where to call,” he says.
I should have known.
Copyright Sheila Moss 2013