Let me tell you about my night

Faralee & Charlie invited us to go to Outback Steakhouse for dinner. We had steak for dinner last night, and Richard ate the leftovers for lunch, but apparently you really can't ever get too much steak and he wanted more. So we went. After a very long wait, we finally got in and got seated. The waiter brought out some little coloring books and some crayons all wrapped in a rubberband for Harrison and Lydia. Harrison proceeded to eat his crayons, so I stole some of Lydia's and started coloring.
Sometimes I really like color by number. I know some artists might balk at that, but I really do. Here's why: (1) It's nice to do something that has clear instructions I can understand and follow, (2) I like knowing that when I'm finished, it will look the way it's supposed to look, And (3) It requires no thought on my part whatsoever.
The service was really slow but even so, every time the waiter walked past he winks and points his finger at us like a gun, as though we had some inside joke. I'm starting to think the joke was "You think I placed your order with the cook, but I didn't!" Our food eventually comes, as food always does, so I eat my sandwich and ponder our waiter, and why he is the way he is, and also try to convince Harrison not to dip his fingers in my ketchup - he satisfies himself by trying to shove French Fries through the straw hole in his drink cup instead. Faralee keeps telling the waiter she doesn't want more water, though her cup is half empty (or was it half full?) and tells us how hard she works to finish off her glass of water, and doesn't want the waiter coming along and ruining everything by filling it back up again.
Harrison then starts to drop French Fries on the floor so we put him back in the high chair. Richard says to him "Harrison, chew on the high chair." Harrison does, and Richard explains to the rest of us "I like to give him commands that he can follow. It gives him a sense of accomplishment, and makes me feel proud when he obeys."
Before we leave I excuse myself to go to the ladies room. As I'm washing my hands I am joined at the neighboring sink by a short women who apparently decided to race me. I was almost done washing when she stepped up, but she finished quickly so that we both reached for our paper towels at the same moment. She grabbed hers and dried her hands as though death were at her hills, and as she skeedaddled out of the room (leaving me drying my hands in confusion) I'm sure I saw a triumphant look in her eye.
We got there for dinner at 6:15, and drove away at 9:30. Harrison passed out on the way home, like a wino with his bottle still in his hand, and we heaved a collective sigh of relief. Eating out with a 1 year old is astonishingly messy and tiring at best. We knew that already, but somehow, we just keep forgetting. I also keep forgetting which tense I am writing in. Was writing in. Whatever.