When my parents took my sister to Seattle in the spring, she took on the task of making a reservation at a nice restaurant. She shopped around and read a lot of restaurant reviews and menus until she finally decided on what sounded like a decent seafood place with a view of the ocean.
But when she made the reservation, something was off. She was told that the restaurant had changed its name but didn't think a lot of it until they got there. They found that the restaurant in question was actually next door, the one my sister chose had closed. The two were in the same hotel.
The place they ended up at was still by the water, but the rotting hulk of an abandoned cargo ship was moored just outside, completely obscuring the view. The menu was different and the food wasn't particularly good. The service was very good because the restaurant was empty for the duration of their meal.
Abby was really upset because she had spent a lot of time and effort trying to find a good restaurant so she wanted to redeem herself. Not that she needed to because no one really blamed her for it.
She chose Sandbar this time. Everything was great and she received the victory she so badly deserved.
Onwards! (my blogging rut is apparently hard to get out of so I'm posting this too late and now making this post unnecessarily long)
We also got my mom a box of chocolates and the first thing my sister did was open the map to start the orientation. I hate that. I want to be surprised. I want to jump in with both feet and not look back. I want to put a chocolate in my mouth and be disappointed when it tastes chemically or weird and I can't figure out what the flavour is supposed to be.
That's the way it's supposed to be, but she insists on ruining it by telling me that it's a raspberry mocha just before I stick it in my mouth.
I was determined to have none of it so I tried to sneak them out of the box without her seeing it which turned into a wrestling match that I lost.