Megan and I have a few go-to, default restaurants whenever stumped by that bad penny of a question “What’s For Dinner?” One of these is the Old Spaghetti Factory, which has been around for fifty years—almost long enough for an “e” at the end of old (but still a ways off from changing the “the” to “ye.”)
It’s family-friendly, affordable, and serves ice cream. Everybody wins.
Last night was one of those nights. For starters, our two year-old has gone nuclear, aka is climbing out of the crib at night. Throw in soccer practice at four (for the seven year-old) and a music orientation at six-thirty (for the four year-old) and boom, we’re joining all the retired couples for a nice Italian meal at five-fifteen.
That’s when it happened. I got duped by punctuation.
“I thought you were going to get the lasagna,” my wife said later that night, as I curled up into the fetal position and prepared for another night of moonlight toddler strolls.
“It wasn’t just that the Chicken Penne with Pesto was listed as new,” I said. “Or NEW. All cap’s wouldn’t have done it. Or even NEW. Bold wouldn’t have put me over the top either. It was NEW!“
It helps to hear it. So dear reader (and all you confused plumbers that keep clicking on my site and sometimes stick around and read), try saying each one, either out loud or in your head. New. NEW. NEW. NEW!
Do you hear it? That extra tinge of enthusiasm/excitement for a new menu item at a restaurant you frequent on a regular basis. It’s hard to resist.
“The thing is,” I explained to Megan, removing my thumb from my mouth. “I don’t think the Chicken Pesto Penne is all that new. In fact, I think I got it last time. I just can’t remember how it was presented on the menu.”
“You should’ve got the lasagna,” she said.
And I would’ve, too. If it wasn’t for that damn exclamation point.