Hubby’s new work schedule has everything thrown for a loop. It feels like we barely get any alone time anymore. So, on his last day off, we decided to go on a date. We scoured the internet for cozy little restaurants near us. We found one set right on a local river, and decided that was it. Dropped the kids off at Grandma’s and we were off. We got in the car and followed my GPS through some of the prettiest scenery I’d ever seen.
We ended up at this cute little restaurant, and I just knew it was going to be perfect. Everything was gorgeous! The river ran behind the restaurant, the trees were sprouting green leaves and gorgeous flowers. The restaurant appeared to be this quaint little piece of heaven set aside for couples.
And then we walked inside the dining room.
There, covering every single wall, were mounted and stuffed dead animals. Everywhere. And every kind of dead animal you could imagine. We dined that evening with a possum hanging over hubby’s head, 3 skunks, a wild boar, several rabbits, a bear, countless deer heads, and a raccoon. (And that’s just what I could see from where I was sitting.) Had we not driven an hour to get there, we probably would have just left. But, hubby was amused by all of the animals on the walls and ceiling, so we stayed and I hoped for the best.
I wish that I had thought to snap some pictures with my camera phone, but I truly think I was so mortified at what was around us that I couldn’t even think about anything but keeping my food down.
It took me back to the days of my youth. When I was a little girl, my parents sang in a group. They traveled to different churches every Sunday. Often, we would have lunch with the pastor of the given church and his family. There was one pastor that I will never forget: Pastor Lemon. When you walked into Pastor Lemon’s house, he had animals everywhere. Squirrels, rabbits, birds…. even a giant bear that stood in his living room. I remember being terrified of eating at his house because I didn’t know what he was going to serve us.
Our date was much like a trip to Pastor Lemon’s house. I ordered the prime rib, but couldn’t even stomach it. I was terrified that it may not have come from a cow. And I really didn’t want to know what it came from. Luckily, hubby doesn’t have a problem with any kind of meat, so he helped me with my steak.
The moral of the story? When you live in the mountains, and you want a romantic dinner, call ahead and make sure you won’t be spending your night with the latest roadkill.
Disclaimer: I was in no way compensated for this post. (Are you surprised?) And so as to not offend the restaurant owners, (even though I was offended by all the creatures of death around me), I have opted not to name or link to the restaurant mentioned in this post. All opinions are 100% my own. Others may enjoy eating their dinner with a possum hanging over their head.
Photo Credit: The photo of the Roadkill menu came from joe-ks.com and can be found here. (I totally expected the menu to look like this!)