Phew!

Well that was a joke. So, me and my valentine went off for a romantic night at Babylon, a somewhat posh restaurant (ie not a pub) that does "Mediterranean" so we were looking forward to perusing the lengthy menu and sampling delicious delicacies that can be scarce in this Central European home of ours. When we got there, we kinda dorked out because it's all nicely done up and there's golden oxen and stuff all over the place so we took lots of pictures, without really looking at the menu or anything. When the waitress came we realized she'd given us only this set Valentine's Day menu, so we asked for the regular one, but it turned out there was no regular one, apparently this imported American holiday is such a big deal that it was due to be too crowded to have more than a few dishes this night.

It was still early, and she tried to be helpful and said she could ask the chef if he'd do some other dishes, so she went off. We pondered about it, then the chef came up to us saying he could do some stuff, but not all up until such time as it got too busy. He stood there explaining it to us for longer than was necessary, and then left. Well.. I thought, and so did Erik, that it wasn't really worth staying, we'd be rushed, and limited in our choices and that was not what we had wanted, but now it seemed like the staff had gone out of their way for us so we felt a bit sheepish. Still, not enough to stay, so we sheepishly slunk out the door. Not really, we apologized in a sappish manner and then went on our way.

Big fail. We wanted to have a romantic dinner in a special place, we even got dressed up and everything! But no, not for us, obvs. This is what happens when we try to act like grownups, all goes awry.

We could either give up on the occasion entirely and go home, or we could be cool and slum it with the little people. So we went to U Pastyrka, or as we like to call it "The Rustic Place" a nice pub, cosy but not in a romantic way. It turned out great. We drank beer, ate pub grub and had pivní sýr, beer cheese, which is where you get the stinkiest, strongest smelling cheese, and mix it up with paprika and onions and other stuff and put it on bread, it's fucking awesome. And as I was sitting there, ingesting the foul smelling delicacy, I thought to myself, "who are we kidding? we are the little people!"

Ok no I didn't, I just wanted to fit the "little people" in there somewhere, but seriously, if you ever get the chance to, try beer cheese, it's fucking awesome. Or fucking awful depending on what you like.

So great night, but most of all it's a relief. There's now no danger of me being normal. Now I can go back to my former ways, wryly observing the conformists while living outside of society, scorning the traditions they slavishly follow, except for the ones I happen to like. I can go back to snarling, stomping and deep conversation, and caring deeply about all the sad followers and their tedious McLives consisting of work, consume, breed, watch tv, work, consume, buy expensive tacky shit on holidays and so on and so on... and be ultimately grateful that I'm above that.

Hey, what can I do. It's who I am.

*looks smug*

UPDATE: The love o' the life has written his own version of events, he has a slightly different slant than mine, but it's a good read as you can expect from someone I condescend to consort with :).