pre-dinner drama

It’s Gail’s birthday tomorrow.  Tonight we are going to Mr. Chow’s to celebrate.  We have a 7pm reservation.

It’s 6pm, and I plan on leaving around 6:30.

Shower?  Check.

Makeup?  Check.

Clothes pressed and ready?  Check.

Camera?  Check.

Gift?  Check.

Umbrella?  Check.

Wallet?  Missing.

I check everywhere.  All my handbags.  The entire apartment.  It’s nowhere.  When did I have it last?  This morning I dropped off shirts and sheets at John’s Cleaners.  I call and the owner answers.   He undoubtedly is not named John, but something more like Li or Jing or Wei. In English that is difficult to understand, he says,

“We have it.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.

“I thought we just drop off on Saturday with rest of laundry.”  And then he adds, “You have not much money in wallet anyway.”

No, but my credit cards and license and Metrocard are in it.  Really.  Li/Jing/Wei was going to wait three days without calling and then just deliver my wallet with my laundry?  I am speechless.

I run to the cleaners, get my wallet, and miraculously make it to the restaurant on time.

The rest of the evening is lovely.  Gail, statuesque at over six feet, arrives on time.  She’s been to this restaurant before (with Mick Jagger, no less) and suggests we let the waiter choose for us.  It’s a wise recommendation.  We begin with cocktail champagne with lychee fruit.  Delicious, as is the rest of the meal.  Rice, green spicy prawns, string beans, something that looks like swordfish ravioli, and two desserts:  a medley of three sorbets, followed by a chocolate mouse cake with a scoop of ice cream with a raspberry sauce (and a candle, of course).

I have no doubt we’ll be celebrating each other’s birthdays at 80.