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I'm smiling. What a great way to kick off the trip ... my husband has done something so very nice for me and it feels so very good.
We settle in for the long ride, chatting about anything and everything. Laughing and planning and dreaming and just being ... together. I love that feeling of being perfectly in sync.
A short 5-ish hours and countless topics of discussion later, we're both getting sleepy. We've agreed that the south side of Indianapolis is a good spot to stop for the night and we start looking for my two requirements for a satisfactory evening:
- A Hampton Inn
- A Waffle House
What do I love about a Waffle House?
What don't I love? It's fast. It's simple. It's hard to screw up eggs. It's cheap. It's open 24/7. You can see the person cooking your meal so you know if they sneeze on it. The people watching cannot be beat. Oh, and there's one more thing.
They have grits. Glorious, swimmin' in butter, salty delicious grits. (OK, it's a buttery spread.)
And I love 'em.
We sit down in a booth between two cops and a Mexican family. We're served by a waitress with only a few teeth. We order our hashbrowns smothered and covered (onions and cheese). And I know right there and then that we won't be going to that fancy restaurant.
How could it possibly be better than this? Sitting with the man I love, grinning from ear to ear as he watches me bouncing in my seat with anticipation of the glorious grits. As it happens every time we're in the South, he slips into his Missouri accent, says things like "yes, ma'am" and "no sir" and it melts my heart.
Long story short, the Waffle House meal is extraordinary. We grab a few hours of sleep and jump into the car bright and early for the short 90-ish minute drive into Louisville. On the way, we stop at yet another Waffle House for breakfast so I can have one more bowl of grits. Then we go straight to the show and walk all day long.
By 5-ish p.m., we're ready to check into our hotel and get gussied up for the big rotating restaurant.
Except that when we're checking in, they mention that there's a prime rib buffet at the hotel restaurant that night. I see Jim's entire thought process flash across his face. It's only a split second, but I get the whole message in an instant. It goes something like this: "I love prime rib, but I love Lisa more and I'll go to the rotating restaurant that will make her happy because she's important to me. But boy--I really like prime rib." Then he smiles.
He knows that I know. I know that he knows that I know. We both know all there is to know. Perfectly in sync, once again.
Up in the room, I look him square in the face and say, "I don't need to go to the fancy restaurant. We're both tired, and schlepping downtown might take more energy than we have. I love you more for making the effort than you can possibly understand. Let's have prime rib."
It's a bit of a "Gift of the Magi" moment and we both know it's meant to be.
He eats prime rib. I have some pasta and giant meatballs. We both get dessert. And then we snuggle into a booth in the bar to watch Louisville take on NC State. The night and this life couldn't be any more perfect.
With or without what would have been a delicious meal in a fancy restaurant.
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