As I mentioned in my previous post, W and I are going away for the night on Saturday. We will be gambling, drinking alcohol, engaging in adult conversation and eating food that doesn’t come in disposable cardboard boxes or with a side of Ranch.
As 2012 is winding down, this is probably it for us for the year as far as nights out without the kids. So, there is a whole lot riding on this weekend. We have to cram gobs of fun and romance and sexiness in a single night. It’s a tall order.
I asked W if she thought the weekend would fall short of our sky-high expectations.
“Definitely not,” she said.
She is an optimist.
Me, not so much.
High expectations and disappointment bring me back to the 80s. (Everything brings me back to the 80s, if you haven’t noticed.) I’m on a road trip with my college friends. Hung-over in a major way. We decide to stop at Friendly’s for lunch.
If you have ever had a serious hang-over (or a touch of “flu,” as we refer to it within my circle of friends), you know the importance of filling your tank with just the right food and beverage post why-did-I-wash-down-a-six-pack-of- pounders-with-that-bottle-of-Boone’s-Farm.
World’s greatest hang-over beverage: Yoo-Hoo
World’s greatest hang-over food: Wendy’s single, ketchup only
At Friendly’s, I carefully scour the menu. I need protein. And, liquid. Lots of liquid.
I spot Friendly’s Fish-a-majig sandwich. The name is jaunty and whimsical. Just saying “Fish-a-majig” brings a slight smile to my lips that are still stained red from way too much sloe gin. A fried fish sandwich would work, I think. Yes, a Fish-a-majig. That’s what I’ll have. “A Fish-a-majig,” I say to myself with conviction. I’m starting to rally already.
I order a Fish-a-majig, a vanilla Fribble and a bucket of water and wait for my fried fish sandwich to come. I can already taste the soft, warm bun, the tang of tartar sauce, the crispy fish filet.
Fifteen minutes later when the waitress places a sad, flat sandwich in front of me, I tell her that she must be mistaken. “I have ordered the Fish-a-majig,” I announce. “You know, crisp, golden breaded fish,” I say.
Apparently, I’m the one who is mistaken.
The Fish-a-majig is a piece of fish bookended by two pieces of toasted white bread. No soft, warm bun for this hung-over college student.
I can still taste the disappointment to this day. It’s tart and tangy like tartar sauce.
Never mention Friendly’s Fish-a-majig sandwich to my college friends. “If we have to hear about that fucking fish sandwich one more time,” they will tell you. They are equal parts over dramatic and unsupportive.
I’m hoping that the weekend doesn’t turn out to be a 2012 Fish-a-majig. So many high hopes and expectations, but in the end you’re left with nothing but toast and a soggy piece of processed fish.
I know what you’re all thinking. If you think the weekend will be a Fish-a-majig, it will be a Fish-a-majig. Self-fulfilling fish sandwiches and all.
It’s funny that when I think of my top disappointments in life, the Fish-a-majig always swims to the top. Not the nine-year marriage that ended in divorce. Or even the 1993 World Series when Joe Carter ended the Philadelphia Phillies’ magical lightning-in-a-bottle season with a single swing of the bat. Curse you, Joe Carter.
Truth be told, W and I have had very few Fish-a-majig moments in our relationship. From the get-go, everything has always worked out the way that it was supposed to, which has been perfect.
And, I know the weekend will be perfect, too.
I guess I just like kvetching about a 30-year-old fish sandwich.
How about you? Care to share a random moment of disappointment?