Valentine’s Day Rage

For like the first time since my hormone-fuelled teenage years (I think), Valentine’s Day tickles my rage receptors. I was driving home with my mother from Footscray after a review lunch, and as we swung past the corner of North Melbourne, mother pointed out a french restaurant.

It was Libertine, and I picked it out instantly for its white curtains and what do you call those mini-curtains, like the dust ruffles around the bed – window dust ruffles? Anyway, I whipped out my slick iPhone and within seconds, found the website, and started nosing around for the menu. The food sounded sublime, and already I was plotting my expedition to that place.

I found my way to the “Special Events” and a paragraph jumped out at me – “…luxurious degustation featuring foie gras, Hervey Bay scallops, Rose veal & winter Perigord truffles.  To match, some aged & rare wines from France and Europe, with Champagne…” – word for word. My mouth became Niagara Falls. And it was all for only 175 dollars per person, well worth more than a month without power or a new dress.

Only – it was for Valentine’s day. Not one, but two (and perhaps a menage a trois for the french spirit) had to book for the limited-seats event.

Now I’m all grouchy I don’t have a nice boyfriend that I can manipulate into taking me to this french place for foie gras and scallops and truffles… urrrrggghhhhhhh I hate Valentine’s Day