VALENTINE’S DAY, RETRO BURRITO BISQUICK BAKE, TRIVIA, RIDDLE, A COUPLE OF QUICK QUESTIONS, FUN + FROLIC

AIN’T THAT A SHAME
BY TRACY BECKERMAN

“Are you ready to order?” asked the server. It was our first time at a new restaurant and everything looked tempting to me. Even the sugar packets looked good.

“I’d like the fish tacos,” I said. “But what kind of tortillas do they come with? I’m gluten-free.”

“They come with corn tortillas,” she said. “But we can also do them as lettuce wraps.”

“I’m kind of feeling the corn tortillas,” I said.

“The lettuce wraps are healthier,” she said, matter-of-factly. I raised my eyebrows at my husband across the table.

“I’ll have the corn, thanks,” I replied.

She took my husband’s order and left. Ain’t That a Shame?

“Are you ready to order?” asked the server. It was our first time at a new restaurant and everything looked tempting to me. Even the sugar packets looked good.

“I’d like the fish tacos,” I said. “But what kind of tortillas do they come with? I’m gluten-free.”

“They come with corn tortillas,” she said. “But we can also do them as lettuce wraps.”

“I’m kind of feeling the corn tortillas,” I said.

“The lettuce wraps are healthier,” she said, matter-of-factly. I raised my eyebrows at my husband across the table.

“I’ll have the corn, thanks,” I replied.

She took my husband’s order and left.

“I’m not sure, but I think I’ve just been menu-shamed,” I said.

He laughed. “Is that a thing?”

“Apparently, it is now,” I said.

I had never actually been menu-shamed before, and I wondered if this was a new trend like the dog-shaming and laundry-shaming that I’d seen online. In the past few weeks, I had also been home haircut-shamed, manicure-shamed and mom jean-shamed (arguably, that one was deserved).

But then I remembered back when my kids were younger, I was carpool-shamed for being late for pickup, snack food-shamed for buying fake Doritos and bathrobe-shamed for driving in my bathrobe. The last one was courtesy of the police department who gets the award for best-shaming without a warrant. Two days later, they shamed me again for driving with a cup of coffee on the roof of my car. I’m not sure what that one would be called. Maybe just stupid mom-shaming. Of course, no one called it shaming then. They just called it rude.

Alas, I, also have done my fair share of shaming. I FaceTime-shamed my parents when they talked to me and pointed the phone at the ceiling fan for 10 minutes. I drugstore-shamed my husband when he brought home Anusol, for hemorrhoids, instead of Anbesol for gum pain. And I online shopping-shamed my friend when she bought a new dress on the internet and it fit perfectly… on her cat.

Meanwhile, back at the restaurant, I deliberated the consequences of ordering a slice of peanut butter chocolate cake for dessert. Would the server steer me toward the fruit plate instead? Would she take it one step further and call into question my entire menu-ordering strategy? I was strong, but I didn’t know if I had the fortitude to withstand a second, grand menu-shaming.

As we waited for our food to arrive, the server stopped at our table with our unsweetened iced teas. My husband grabbed for a sugar packet, ripped it open and poured it into his glass. I looked at him with my mouth agape.

“What are you doing?” I said. “You never put sugar in your iced tea.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I do.”

“No, you don’t. We’ve been married 31 years. I know how you take your iced tea and you don’t ever put sugar in it.”

He gave me a look.

“I think I’ve just been sugar-shamed,” he said.

“That’s not shaming,” I said. “That is making an observation.”

“What’s the difference?” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s only shaming when someone does it to me.”

Tracy Beckerman is the author of the Amazon Bestseller, “Barking at the Moon: A Story of Life, Love, and Kibble,” available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble online! You can visit her at www.tracybeckerman.com