Lately, John and I have been enjoying one of the best parts about being back in Minnesota: Grandma Sue. Grandma Sue has been coming to town a lot lately, to see all of the grandkids. When she comes to town, she divides her time between our house and John's sister's house and is happy to stay with the kids while John and I enjoy a quick night out. It helps with the monotony of a long winter, for all of us.
Last night, was just such a date night. We usually keep it simple and last night was no different. I really wanted beer (there is a great new American gluten free beer) and buffalo wings (no Buffalo wings in Belgium.) We found our way to a local pub. They specialize in a variety of beer and their menu is more European than most around here, but I held out hope that they still had wings. They did. And they had my beer, all three different "flavors" (for lack of a better word.) Thus, it was a perfect destination for our date night.
Their sophisticated beer selection and "European" menu (as well as their location on the edge of downtown) attracts young professionals. Corporate climbers and attorneys, that sort of crowd. We bellied-up to the bar and ordered. Our afternoon and evening thus far had been about driving kids to ballet, making sure homework was done, feeding grandma and the crew and herding everyone through baths and showers. Then it was "grab the keys and get out the door without looking back." I had a lipstick in my purse and I swiped it over my lips in the car. I am in desperate need of a haircut, and I'm always cold, those two factors combined mean I haven't taken my hat off my head since we arrived in Minnesota in December. In other words, we weren't exactly all decked out. But one thing I learned about living in Belgium, is that a nice sweater, a cute scarf or hat, and a pair of boots goes a long way to looking pulled together. And in Minnesota in the middle of winter, functionality often wins out over fashion anyway, so we fit in just fine. I wasn't worried.
The bar was crowded, but most everyone trickled out over the course of the night. There was a young couple near us at the bar that were obviously on a date. He was dressed uber-cool and had dark thick, stuck-his-finger-in-an-electrical-socket-type-hair and black rimmed glasses. If I had to guess? New lawyer. (No judgment intended, I used to be one myself once.) His date was a petite blond, wearing a sweater vest. If I had to guess? Kindergarten teacher.
John hadn't wanted any wings (he'd eaten a lot of the dinner I had set out for the kids.) So I worked my way through almost the entire plate of wings. (I hadn't eaten a single bite of the kids' dinner, I was saving myself for the wings.) But the date-couple had shared some sort of amazing dessert. So John leaned over to ask, "Hey, what did you guys order for dessert? Was it ice cream? It looked really great." And uber-cool-guy answered in the most pretentious, arrogant voice I've heard in awhile, "No, it was the chocolate torte." I think his nose turned up in the air a bit as he said it too.
John gave a slight nod of his head and a small polite laugh and said, "Thanks." Then he turned to me and we laughed. We couldn't help ourselves. For the next five minutes, we whispered to each other without caring what anyone thought. And we could not stop laughing. Uber-cool-guy shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I felt bad for him. Really, I did. No one likes, nor deserves to be, laughed at, especially someone who is obviously trying so hard to be impressive. But it was just so funny.
In those moments of laughter I realized what we must look like to him: me in my stocking hat, sitting at the bar drinking local beer from the bottle and eating wings, and asking about what we thought was the ice cream dessert. I certainly didn't look like the lawyer I once was.
What he could never have known, was that we were two Americans who had lived the last six years in central Europe, recently stateside again and out to enjoy some of the American specialties we had missed for so long. How could he possibly know, that last spring I took a cooking class taught by my friend from the kids' school who had trained as a French chef. In that class, I learned how to make a chocolate torte from scratch, by melting butter and dark French chocolate and I had done so by only speaking French. And don't even get me started on the collection of French wine and champagne, smuggled carefully via suitcases over the course of several trips and waiting patiently in our basement. Reserved for only the most special of occasions from here on out.
I think it is safe to say that John and I have mastered the art of blending in. After years of living and traveling abroad in a post-9/11 world, we have learned to fit into whatever scene surrounds us, in the moment. It's a skill that I am rather proud of -- I would rather not stand out in a crowd. At this point in my life, I am much more comfortable blending in…like chameleons. Last night, I was happy to let the spotlight shine on the lawyers and young professionals who were excited to be out, enjoying the more exotic choices on the menu and drinking fancier drinks. We looked exactly how we wanted to look...like two cold midwesterners, with a chance to sneak out for a quick beer and a plate of wings. If that means we don't deserve Mr. Uber-Cool's approval, so be it...we will probably just laugh it off.
But I have this message to Mr. Uber-Cool, and a reminder for all of us, myself included: be careful not to judge. For you never know, the person sitting next to you might just be a chameleon.
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