Dinner Theatre

FAIR Warning, this was written apparently one night when I got up from bed and wandered to the computer all wacked-out on Ambien.  I have no recollection of posting this, and I am surprised to read of my sappy feelings that must be down below the surface about my engagement ring.  True story:  I told Bert not to buy me a ring, but he insisted and he's kinda old-fashioned.  I had never even heard of a many spending three month's salary on an engagement ring before he brought it up.  A real sweetheart.  I could never be so lucky.  How's that for some sap?

Here's what I wrote:

It was a long day for me and Bert.  We were looking forward to quiet dining and no dishes to take care of afterwards so we went to our favorite spot, Flat Branch Pub.  The patio was open and the weather was perfect.  As soon as we were seated, it became clear that we were going to be held captive to a somewhat one-sided conversation from an adjacent table.

His voice was piercing and clear.  His enunciation was perfect.  The man who I will refer to as the Douche from now on sat at a small table with two other people.  He had a delightful accent, Indian trained in England.  Within the first few minutes we learned of the girl he had a crush on all his life.  Because she was just so beautiful.  Not many other details besides an occasional "just gorgeous" to get the point across.  Then he brought up one of their mutual friends who was recently engaged.  He explained incredulously that she expected an engagement ring worth three months of her suitor's salary.  This must have been the first time he'd ever heard of this, because he just kept saying how ridiculous a $27,000 ring would be.  "That could pay for one of their children's college!"  How insane was this woman!  Come to find out this guy is a resident at the hospital.  He would not make $27,000 in three months during residency.  He Might make it once he gets a real job outside of the training portion of this medical education.  The Douche missed the point entirely.  I guess the days of men setting aside that money for the perfect ring to honor his love to be are over.  Lucky for Bert, he was working in a research lab as a master's candidate, so three month's salary was not that much.  He honored it though, and I will never trade or upgrade my beloved ring.  It is a memento of our relationship that I can carry with me even when he is not.

The "lovely" accent started to grate and take over our table's conversation.  We could not hear over the din of the Douche.  Our own conversation had ceased or only picked up when we had to say something to secretly mock the Douche.  His friends were there and brief pauses when they would talk, but we could not make out a single word they said.  He then started talking about one of the other Indian residents he knows who called him the least Indian-like Indian guy he ever met (likely {hopefully} for disgrace).  The Douche seemed quite proud of this, announcing that he is barely Indian at all.  He was one of those who talked a LOT but said nearly nothing.  I am not sure which medical field he is going into, but I wish the very best for his patients, and that they may have patience.  It always amazes me the residents who come to Midwestern residency programs.  Is this a last chance sort of thing, or what?  I don't know why anyone would want to go to the middle if they didn't have to, that's for sure.