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"Confetti Skin, Beauty Within" is our blog about ichthyosis and its effect on our lives. Rachel and our three boys are affected with the form of ichthyosis called "icthyosis en confetti, type 2".

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Unwelcome Attention in a Restaurant

The restaurant diners looked up from their meals and stared at Monkey and me as we raced through the restaurant. He wasn’t subtle by any stretch of the imagination — he was waving his hand up in the air hollering “Eeeeeeeyow ow ow ow OWWWWWWW!” as he wound his way through the dining area.

We had been seated in the far-back corner booth of the restaurant, a nod to the realities of dining out as a family of six. And although there were a few other families with young kids scattered throughout the restaurant, it was one of those “upscale casual” places — so our screaming seven-year-old interrupted the mating dance occurring by the bar, which was lined with a bunch of overly trendy glowing crystal skulls. (Seeing the skulls only made me want to joke about nuking fridges, but I’m old and crotchety that way.)

Our waiter, who had somehow managed to mess up both our drink order and our dinner order, looked up from his tray, his face contorted into a look that I read as “there goes any chance I had of getting a tip from that table”.

Our food had arrived a few minutes ago, and my attention was directed fully at Cookie, who was distraught that his order had been missed. He was chafing at the mixup, and the unfairness of the fact that he had ordered exactly the same thing as Monkey, who was happily chowing down. “How come Monkey got his plate of soft tacos and I didn’t, when we ordered exactly the same thing?” he wanted to know.

I was trying to calm the angry child down by giving him permission to pick at the chicken-and-cheese quesadilla that I had ordered for Jennifer (we were coming from separate locations), when the screeching to my left started. It was Monkey, who started with “AAAAAAHHHHHH!” Loudly.

Rachel's Hands, October 10, 2013 (c) 2013, All Rights Reserved

Rachel’s Hands, October 10, 2013 (c) 2013, All Rights Reserved

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“AAAHH!”

“Can we use words? I don’t understand…”

“AAAHH HOT!”

“It’s too spicy?” That didn’t make a lot of sense, since the kids were used to Mexican food and the lone bite I had tasted from my burrito platter was tasty, but certainly not tear-inducingly spicy. “Have some of your Coke?”

“AAAAAAH NOOOOO HURTS!” <waves hand>

“Oh. Let’s go to the bathroom.” And with that, Monkey shoved Kitty out of the way and began his dash through the dining room.

You see, in his eagerness to devour his tacos, Monkey had picked up the whole thing with his hands and, and as he tore into it, some of the taco sauce or seasoning had gotten onto his hand. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but there were several bleeding cracks in his hand. So when we finally made it to the restroom, Monkey gave a very visible sigh of relief once he thrust his hand under the stream of cold water.

The picture at the top of this post is a picture of my hand from last night. The deep-red fissures that you can see on my fingers aren’t as bad as the ones on Monkey’s hand last night — he still doesn’t do that great a job of keeping his hands scale-free and hydrated and full of cream — but dripping hot sauce on any of the deep red fissures would have me dashing for the bathroom, too. Although I probably would be a bit more subtle about it. Although come to think about it, I remember that I once jammed my hand into a glass of ice water, tableside, when I had an unfortunate incident with a hot wing…

Incidentally, Cookie continued his pattern of doing his best to run up the restaurant bill. He wound up eating most of a basket of chips and salsa, the kid’s meal of soft tacos he ordered, and the entire chicken-and-cheese quesadilla, and most of an oversized piece of chocolate cake. He whined pitifully when we demanded that he share the cake with Momo, who had turned his nose up at the flan we had ordered for him. And Cookie also whined that he was still hungry after polishing off dessert.

Have a great weekend, and keep that hot sauce away from open cracks. 😉

2 comments to Unwelcome Attention in a Restaurant

  • Chandra

    Poor little fellow! I got so tired of hurting my hands that there are very few foods that I will eat with my hands anymore. If people think it’s because I’m a dainty eater, I let them though I think the concept of me as dainty is hilarious. Anything with sauces or juices qualifies it for fork and knife treatment. I also tend to make sure that stuff with sauces or juices get cut in small pieces so I don’t end up with something running down my chin that hurts.

  • Anonymous

    Yeah, Chandra, same here, I hate eating juicy fruits, but if someone prepares them into a fruit salad for me, then I love fruits.

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