A couple days ago we came home from a fancy dinner, and Daniel excitedly pulled a tshirt from his pants. Apparently they had been caught hostage in his jeans during the wash cycle earlier that day, and Daniel didn’t realize that he was concealing extra clothes until halfway through dinner (during our second course of braised morels, juiced frisée and dollops of moussed something-or-other) when he leaned over and quietly voiced his concern. No, our other dinner guests did not hear him. Thank God.
It was even more awkward because Daniel had previously cooked with the chef of this restaurant in Spain, and we were visiting the establishment for the first time. So here we are at this classy restaurant: Eating beautifully plated, course after course of esoteric, delicate and thoughtful dishes; and surrounded by fancy people wearing pressed suits and dressed to the nines; and Daniel is contemplating what it is stuffed down his pants. He excused himself to go to the restroom, and returned looking confident and relaxed. I figured the situation had been resolved.
But, apparently it hadn’t. During his time away from the table, Daniel discovered the culprit and then soon realized that he had no way to store the shirt during dinner. So he left it in his pants…obviously. Later that night, when we returned to the hotel room it was only with delight and great pride that Daniel revealed his stow away. Im trying to appreciate that he finds creative ways to solve problems.