My friend, Sabrina and I were nibbling on a canoli. We had finished a pasta lunch at a new Italian restaurant that opened up along the pier. It prided itself on authentic Italian fare. I always judge the authenticity of an Italian restaurant by its canolis. This one wasn’t getting past me. It was soggy.
I put my fork down and took a sip of my espresso.
“Not a four star by any means,” I said.
Sabrina had smeared her side of the plate with the cream cheese filling. She wasn’t a dessert gal.
“Paul and I are communicating better these days,” she said. “I suggested yesterday that he should pursue me more.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Do you know what he said?”
“No, tell me.”
He said, “‘Why?'”
“Oh dear,” I said.
“So I said I thought it would be good for our marriage.”
“How did he respond?” I said.
“‘You don’t like my ideas,'” he said.
“Oh dear,” I said. I had learned not to be wordy when Sabrina was telling one of her stories.
“Then I said to him, ‘What does pursuing me have to do with ideas?'”
“‘Everything,'” he said. “‘I don’t plan. You want to know where we’re going. I like to try new restaurants, you need to know what the food will be like. I like new things, you stick to what you know.'”
“I hate to admit it, but I had to agree with him. I am an idea-buster,” she said to me.
“That’s not true. We’re here, aren’t we, trying out a new restaurant,” I said.
“That’s different,” she said.
“How?” I asked finishing my espresso.
“It was my idea, not yours, so I didn’t bust it,” she said.
“So it’s really a control issue,” I said. As soon I said it, I regretted it.
“What are you saying, that I like to be in charge?”
“Er…yes?” I said.
“Well some friend you are.” She threw her napkin on the table, stood up and stormed out.
I was left paying for lunch and the soggy canoli.
I went home and wrote a review on Yelp. I gave the restaurant minus zero stars. For busting up a friendship.