They say procrastination is the thief of time, but on Valentine’s Day, it’s mostly just the thief of dinner reservations.
I’ll admit it: I’ve become a "last-minute guy." The transformation is hard to explain. I used to be the "Itinerary King" - the man who organized family trips, booking flights and colour-coding schedules months in advance. But this year? I failed to see Valentine’s Day coming, even though it’s been on the same date for, well, forever.
My original plan was simple: a romantic, candlelit fine-dining experience with my wife. I found the perfect spot - a gorgeous restaurant with an actual tree inside the dining room. I could already see the "Husband of the Year" trophy. Then, I tried to book it. Fully booked.
I moved to my second choice. Fully booked. My third? Full. I even went back to the restaurants I had previously snubbed for being "not good enough," and even they turned me away. That’s when the realization hit: trying to book a table 24 hours before Valentine’s Day is like trying to find a quiet spot at a rock concert. It’s just not going to happen.
As I sat there staring at the screen of my PC full of "No Availability", I had a realization. Why limit the love to just the two of us? St. Valentine may have sacrificed his life for the commitment of young couples, but surely he wouldn’t mind if I invited the whole gang. Love and sacrifice, right? My sacrifice was the romantic candlelit dream; my love was for my entire family.
I fired off a message to the family WhatsApp group: "Hello there my kids.. Do you have appointments tomorrow night.. I'm planning a family date" By some miracle, the kids didn't have plans yet. The "Family Date" was officially on!
Against all odds, I secured a table for four at our local Prezzo. We all dressed up, feeling sharp and ready for a lovely Saturday night. The ambiance was great, the company was better, and the food was genuinely delicious. I’m still thinking about the crab and lobster tortellini I ordered - absolutely top-tier.
However, there was one uninvited guest at our table: a mysterious, freezing breeze.
I don’t know where it was coming from, but it felt like we were dining on the slopes of the Alps. My wife complained to the waitress, who politely checked with her manager, but the cool draft remained. In the end, my wife spent the entire romantic dinner bundled up in her winter coat.
I’d like to think the restaurant wasn't doing it on purpose to make us finish faster, but let’s just say we didn’t linger over desserts and coffee (we did it outside in a Mc Donalds not far away). If I go back (and I will for that pasta!), I’m requesting a table far, far away from the "Arctic" section.
Every event in life has something to teach us. Perfection is a myth; even the most beautiful evening usually has a tiny flaw hiding in the shadows or blowing in from the vents.
But looking around that table, watching my wife and two children laugh together, I realized that a "perfect" time isn't about the lighting or the booking lead time. It’s about the memory. A family date like this is a once-in-a-lifetime snapshot of where we are right now.
Valentine’s Day is the "Day of the Heart." This year, mine is completely full because I remembered what it's actually made of: an everlasting love for my wife and kids.
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