Getting Fancy

So my dad and Sharon are big spenders, in the sense that they like to spend money, and they like to spend it all the time. They had just gotten their tax returns back, Sharon's significantly larger than my dad's since she makes so much more, and they decided that they wanted to celebrate with a fancy dinner at the only five star restaurant in town, Tony's.


Sharon's best gay friend, Dean was also joining them, and that was when they invited me to be his "date." The only problem was, I didn't have their definition of "fancy clothes." And so our day began with a trip to Nordstrom's Rack and Whole Foods. (Where I think the "fancy people" go to spend lots of money for no reason.)


Nordstrom's Rack was like a mad house. All of these hyper skinny blond women in tall heels were running around grabbing things at random. There was a long line for the changing rooms, and the jeans were on hangers that had a security cord that ran through the belt loops. I had somehow stumbled into the world where private school kids shopped with their parents' credit cards and housewives hung out everyday sipping on organic coffee. Sharon seemed to think everything was normal, but I saw it for the craziness $200 shirts were.


Sharon steered us towards the business looking clothes and pulled out a black dress. It was a size zero, and while it may fit the rest of me, my boobs definitely wouldn't. I agreed anyways, since she would push it until I tried it on. A tall black sales lady came over with two more dresses, saying, "They will be perfect for your figure."


We headed to the changing rooms where we met my dad in the guy's shirt isle. He was looking at a couple different shirts and couldn't decide what he wanted. Sharon suggested he try the one he was leaning towards on because it looked kind of big. He was wearing a shirt on under his fleece, so he started to pull his fleece off. His shirt sort of came with the fleece though, and he was baring his back for a few seconds before he pulled it down.


"Well, I never," I heard some old lady say. I looked around and she had perfectly dyed blond hair to match her greying eyebrows and crows feet. I half scowled at her. My dad a shirt on. It wasn't his fault it had scooted up for ten seconds.


The shirt ended up not fitting, so trying the shirt on was for naught, but I still don't think the lady should have acted so uppity. Guess that comes with the "fancy" territory.


I finally got into the changing room and tried on the too tight dress. I showed Sharon and explained it was much to tight in the boob region. I tried on the next dress only to find that my legs were basically plastic wrapped together. The last dress fit fine, and was a size two, but it was loose in the bust, which I didn't like that much.  But Sharon liked it, I think it was mostly because it covered my tattoo. Since she was paying I didn't have that much of a choice.


We went to check out, and Sharon pointed out how the people wave flags to get our attention. The lady rang everything up and the final cost was over four hundred dollars. Considering I didn't make that in a month, I felt like saying, "Take this shit back!"


We headed over to Whole Foods next and I saw the coffee dispensing area. I practically begged my dad to buy me some. So we stood in line and waited. And while we did, this super old dude, (like a freaking dinosaur) dressed in a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, old faded jeans, and a flannel shirt with a mural of the "ol' west" on the back proceeded to dump his coffee everywhere. After cleaning that up and making a new coffee, which he somehow managed to not spill, he then began to demand that the cashier find his wife and daughter.


After he noticed his family off somewhere else, dad and I were able to get our coffee and find Sharon. Sharon had found a sale on Veuve Clicquot, and was sending some sales boy to unlock the liquor cabinet. I picked up all the different pieces of cheeses that were being offered, telling the guys behind the counter that I really loved cheese. They didn't seem to mind me, and offered me a couple of different slices that weren't set out for everyone to try. (I can safely say I like being cute.)


We finally had the food Sharon wanted and were heading to check out yet another set of expensive items. I balked again at the hundred dollar price tag as we left. We headed out to the car, and managed to go to the wrong car all together. I felt really weird about going to the wrong car and trying the handle.


We headed home, and I headed back to my apartment so I could get ready since I needed shoes fancier than flip flops. I straightened my hair, picked my grey tights, and put on my "sexy secretary shoes." Then I drove back to dad's in time for them to break out the champagne. Which I got none of because Sharon is a hard ass.


Then we headed to Tony's. We had to walk into what I kind of thought was a bank, but really turned out to be the restaurant. They had us wait a moment while they fixed up our table. They steered us over to the "famous people wall," where there was lots of pictures of stars and sports people. There was also lots of signed letters from stars and sports people who had passed through saying how great the food was.


We got sat, and I noticed that we had three waiters. And they made a point to pull out the chair for me and put the napkin in my lap for me. I thought it was very weird. Then we didn't have menus. Apparently we had to place a drink order first.


When they finally gave us our menus, but since it was all in Italian, I couldn't figure out what anything was. I had to keep asking dad because he was at least a chef and could tell me what most of it was. The waiter also informed us of the specials, which I didn't really listen to because it was all seafood.


I decided on the spinach and beef ravioli for an appetizer, stuffed quail and beef tenderloin for and entree, and an ice cream pie for dessert. The waiter boys tried to serve me wine, but Sharon basically bit their heads off, so all I got was Coke. Then when the appetizers came out, I was disappointed to see that my raviolis were barely stuffed and there wasn't any wonderful hot cheese melted on top.


I didn't want to complain though, and ate my ravioli while Sharon, Dean, and my dad got steadily drunker. Our plates were taken away on the sly and replaced with clean plates. Then the waiters served us our entrees, and my steak was cooked very, very rare. I moo'd at it.


Dad laughed, but Sharon got a wrinkle in her brow. Dean didn't seem to notice since he was looking at a waiter boy rather closely. The sauce my quail was covered in was really spicy for me, but I ate almost half of it to make my dad and Sharon happy. I also drank four cups of Coke. Of course, they still each out drank me in the wine department.


They took our food away to be wrapped up and brought out dessert. Dad also got coffee with drambuie, and Sharon got tea with amaretto. Dad also made me get a mocha coffee, but it was so bitter I could barely drink it. I had to add almost a cup of sugar.


My ice cream pie came out, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was bigger than my head. The meringue that topped it was nearly a foot tall. Then to top it off, the whole thing was covered in chocolate hardshell and caramel. I dug into it hardily.


I didn't finish anything they gave me, but no one seemed to mind. The food was ridiculously rich.


Dad and Sharon were finally ready to leave just as the day was turning over The bill was over four hundred dollars pre-tip. Attempting to stand up was met by waiters pulling our chairs out and stealing our napkins away, and then rushing off to fetch our coats. I felt like a stuffed pig, and could barely get my coat. Mostly it was because the guy wouldn't let me put my coat on by myself.


The valet went and fetched our car, and he opened the passenger door for me, but I cheerily informed him I was driving tonight. "They don't look fit enough to drive do they?" I asked him. He smiled at me after looking at Dad and Sharon. He didn't agree with me, though I could see he wanted to.


Driving home was met with Dad giving me drunken backseat directions which I ignored. I finally turned onto the highway and got them home. I made sure they got in the house and let the puppy out to pee on his pads. They were safely tucked into bed and snoring before I left for home.


Dad didn't return my text the next morning asking how hungover he was. I suspect it was because they were really, really hungover.