Petit Innocence

A couple of weeks ago, Rich and I had the opportunity to have a weekend away, just the two of us, skiing on Mt. Hood.  My parents had made us an offer we couldn’t refuse:  they would come to our house and hang out with the kids over a three day weekend and we would have free reign to practice our keg stands and beer bongs with 500 of our closest friends in their Portland, Oregon home.  (Kidding, Dad. You saw the progress I made on your jigsaw puzzle.)

The kids of course had a wonderful time with their Gram and Granddaddy and even picked up some geography as my parents are planning to leave for France in a week or two.  (This will come up later.)  We had a blast skiing and generally just unwinding and on Monday it was time to go home.  We all decided that exchanging the kids halfway between Portland and the Tri-Cities was the best way to maximize time efficiency and minimize fussiness, so a small town was chosen.  This particular town whose name I’ll keep to myself might ring a bell for those of you who watch less PBS kids and more CNN than me.  It recently made headlines with a certain female elected town official got fired because of some pictures she posted of herself in her bra and hot pants on a certain popular social networking site.

Anyway this particular small town only has one restauraunt, called “Restaurant” as far as we could tell,  so we settled in for a little dinner in the smoky atmosphere.  It is a true “greasy spoon” place – the type of place that sometimes I have a strange affinity for as they seem to being town down all over the country to make way for the rapidly breeding Applebees, Chili’s and other boxed restaurant places.  Anyway, walking into a place like that in a town with a population of only 500 always is interesting as the music seems to skip and stop and all conversation ceases as townsfolk stare at the “foreigners”.  We weren’t truck drivers and we sure as hell weren’t locals.  Who knows, maybe we made the village newspaper.

As we chose our dinner from the menu of items such as chicken-fried steak and pot pie, just as the waitress was taking our order, Connor started looking around the room at the unfamiliar surroundings, a whole hundred miles away from his own home.  There was western-style swinging doors into a smoky bar and paintings on the wall by some local artist who chose broken down cars in wheat fields as his muse.

Loud enough for the whole restuarant to hear he asked the table, “Are we in Paris?”

Ummm….let me see.  No.  (My dad and I did not do a very good job of containing our amusement.)

Welcome back stateside, MyAllusion (hope you were able to stay up to 8pm like you said on chat last night), and enjoy the trip, Mom and Dad.  I hope you can find a restaurant more romantic.


2 Responses to “Petit Innocence”

  1. 1 JenK March 3, 2008 at 1:05 pm

    Oh my dear, sweet, Connor. Although I’m sure they offered steak and fries (steak frites) much as they did all over Paris, I’m pretty sure that you would never find a picture of a wheat field within 500 kilometers. Tell Mom and Dad to make sure to eat at Le Relais de l’Entrecôte for their famous steak frites. And their desserts are amazing. Definately recommend the Profiteroles!

    Thanks for the laugh! Oh, and it was 8:49pm thankyouverymuch!

  2. 2 Lisa March 28, 2008 at 8:57 am

    I can guess where you were……………and I am totally cracking up at Connor.


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