Dinner This Evenin'

This evenin', we went to dinner wif a couple we met at a "Pilgrim's play" that was put on by Children's Workshop--it seemed we had a bit in common. There was such a pleasant camaraderie between us that we exchanged numbers when de play was over. (It was an okay likkle play, some kids forgot their lines--one ov them got stage-fright an' burst into tears an' his mother rushed to de platform, yellin', "Focus, Frankie! Focus!" Didn't know whether to laugh or cry along wif him. De mother wants to turn him inna de next Wesley Snipes, an' de kid prob'ly just wants to be sittin' in de audience eatin' poporn.) Anyway, we've developed some kinda friendship. We went to a few poetry-SLAMs together--turns out de husband luvs poetry as much as De Piggy does--an' de wife an' I've gone to two can-can sales together. They're a bit older than we are, an' de husband's a fan ov vintage reggae, soh when he found out that Mr. Pig used to play-out, he came over to drink some punch-a-creme (shout-outs to Sunshine!) an' listen to some music wif Mr. Pig for de New Year's. They've been married for 8 years, an' have 2 kids. This evenin' we went wif them to one ov mi favourite places, a small fusion restaurant (American, Asian, Italian, unfortunately no Caribbean), where mi favourite waiter works. He's mi fave 'cause he's legitimately gay--maybe homosexual, but no, that's not it--he's got real gaiety, a very upbeat, peppy personality wif a zest for life that just makes yu live a likkle bit harder when he's around. (He luvs mi clothes, an' ah luv his personality, so we get on.) Anyway, we were seated, an' mi fave waiter brought us decaf, biscotti, an' water, while we went over de menu like we weren't goin' to order de same shrimpy chicken & pasta wif garden salad that we always got. There's a tense silence, 'cause de other couple is very tight-lipped tonight. We don't know why, since this dinner date was their idea in de first place. What are they mad about? Mr. Pig an' I exchange confused glances. "What's de matta, people?" Mr. Pig pronounces de Black Uhuru intro like a joke, tryin' to break de ice an' get them to open up. They barely mumble nothing. Mr. Pig looks at me like, "WTF?" Then they decide to get steak--well done--an' tense silence continues, except for oldies playin' quietly. Now there's mi fave waiter singin' "Everlastin' Love" an' breakin' up de uneasy silence, while skillfully servin' us our meal wif his usual flair. De food is great, an' hungry as ever, ah dive in. THEN, they want to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And they want undivided attention. "This is it for our marriage," he announces. "Nobody's fault, but this is it." We look blankly at him. WTF?
"It's over," says de wife. "It done! Totally done."
That's why they suggested we go to dinner together this evenin'? WTF?
Now, there's de way to disturb a good meal. Then Mr. Pig goes into fix-it mode, an' starts suggestin' counselors an' such, but they say they don't want any counselor, "It's just over." Now, this ticks off Mr. Pig. He doesn't believe in people discussin' problems that they don't want to solve. "Since yu don't want no counselor, then don't bother bring it up," he says. "Let's just enjoy our money's worth of a good meal and go home." But no. They want to vent. And vent. Even though de husband said it's nobody's fault, they're suddenly goin' on about who said what an' who did what when where. They get a bit heated, an' distract de couple at de next table. I'm still eatin', swallowin' up de evenin', can't wait to go pick up de Piglet an' reach back home. Fave-waiter rushes over before their squabble gets more noticeable, an' seein' that their steak's been ignored, he coaxes them wif delicious dessert on de dumbwaiter. De woman looks close to tears. She doesn't want any pistachio creme pie. De man's face is set like, "Whatever!" I'm tryin' to be tactful an' not upset her any more than she already is, but not Mr. Pig. "(Waiter), split this down de middle," he says. "An' bring 2 doggy bag, please." Fave waiter relaxes a bit, he knows us--though he doesn't know de other couple--an' he trusts us not to let anyfing escalate. De husband isn't at all pleased wif Mr. Pig's indifference, but bein' indifferent, Mr. Pig don't care. Soon, we're all paid up--fave waiter is tipped even better than usual--an' we're goin' into our car, as they go into theirs--few strained partin' words said, as we leave. "We'll call you guys later," de husband tells us, an' they're drivin' off. We can hardly wait to get home, but instead ov comin' straight home, we stop at de park, sit on a bench lookin' at de frozen stream, an' go over what just happened. "Don't them did look happy?" Mr. Pig asks, an' I'm like, "Yep, but who really knows?" Evidently, they weren't happy--they aren't right now--but they gave a good impression ov happiness. "We can't mek that happen to we," Mr. Pig says, an' de thought ov it is so scary that we snuggle up on de bench for a good 20 minutes just starin' at de pond whose ducks are nowhere to be seen, before wi goh pick up de Piglet, an' drive come home. I'm still like, "WTF?"