Enough with the f$%&ing chicken fingers!

Tomorrow will be our two year wedding anniversary.  I think it's pretty safe to say, like many infertiles, our first couple of years of marriage haven't exactly worked out the way we thought they would.  We had about 6 months of wedded bliss before we started TTC, and it's been a reproductive roller coaster ever since then.  But on the plus side, we're still talking to each other and no one has filed for a restraining order just yet.

This weekend we went for an early anniversary dinner at one of my favourite restaurants.  If you're ever in Toronto and looking for a recommendation, you should definitely try to get a reservation at Ruby Watchco.  It's run by former Food Network celebrity chef Lynn Crawford, and the concept is that they source local, seasonal ingredients to make a different set four-course menu every night.  They do of course make allowances for food allergies and legitimate dietary restrictions, but otherwise there's no choice and what's on the menu for that day is what you get.  Everything I've ever had there has been fantastic, and at $50 for four courses cooked by a celebrity chef (who is actually there every night, working the kitchen and cleaning your table like a regular joe), it's a pretty sweet deal.

The first time we went there for dinner last year, M demonstrated both why I married him and why I can't take him anywhere nice.  I had filled him in on the concept for the restaurant ahead of time, so he knew damn well there was no choice involved.  That didn't stop him from starting, a couple of days before our reservation, from talking about how much he was looking forward to going out because he had a hankering for chicken fingers.  This from a man who without fail orders either steak or ribs no matter where we go.  I wryly reminded him (several times) that chicken fingers were unlikely to be what Chef Crawford would be cooking for us that evening.

The night of the actual dinner, the real comedy routine began.  First, there was his overstated childlike anticipation of being able to order chicken fingers no matter what I said to the contrary.  

M: I can't wait to order me some chicken fingers!

Me: Yeah, well, like I said, you can't order there. 

M: I've had a real craving for chicken fingers all week.

Me: That's unfortunate, because like I told you, we won't be having chicken fing...

M: They're gonna be the best chicken fingers ever!!

Then, there was his feigned disappointment when we arrived at the restaurant and the evening's menu inevitably did not include chicken fingers.  This quickly degenerated into overly dramatic belligerence at the fact that he couldn't order any Jesus chicken fingers.

M: What??  This place calls itself a restaurant??  They don't even have chicken fingers on the menu!!

Me:  No?  Shocker.  Well, too bad.

M: This is outrageous!  I demand to speak to the manager!  I want to see Ruby Watchco!  Someone bring me Ruby!

Me:  You mean Chef Crawford?

M:  No, I mean Ruby Watchco, the owner!  The one the restaurant is named after.  I want to talk to her.  Where is she?  Where's Ruby?

Me:  There's no Ruby.  And there's no fucking chicken fingers!

The best part was when, at some point during his diatribe, Lynn Crawford actually ended up coming out into the main dining area to put some clean glasses onto a waiter's station less than three feet from us.  I was quite enjoying his performance and was tempted to let him keep going, but eventually shushed him lest she overhear and wind up thinking that we actually were some pair of unsophisticated chicken-finger-demanding rubes as opposed to the sophisticated foodies I like to pretend we are.  Of course as soon as I told him where I wanted to go for our anniversary dinner this year, the everloving chicken finger bullshit started again.  Honestly, I think I would have been disappointed if it hadn't.

I play the part of the exasperated wife pretty well, but the reality is that his shenanigans make life worth living and I couldn't imagine things any other way.  While I still hope at some point we can welcome a child into our life, I know that even if we can't, we'll be OK.  As long as there's chicken fingers.