Daddy-Daughter Date

Ambrosia’s post today reminded me of this one time that my dad took me on a date. I was probably seven or eight at the time, and we decided to go out for dessert. I ordered a brownie sundae, and it was delicious and rich. About halfway through I realized I would never be able to finish it.

Once I declared that I couldn’t eat another bite, my dad poured steak sauce, salt and pepper, horseradish, and various other condiments on it. I was terribly embarrassed. My dad assured me that my food would not have been used anyway and that it would not go to waste any more now that it was covered in sauce than it would have without all the decoration. I didn’t care. I could only think about what the waiter would think of us when he came back to get our plates.

I guess I must have seemed really put out by it because after we left the restaurant, my dad drove us to the grocery store. Inside the store was a table stacked high with Barbies in spring-themed dresses, hats, and yellow shoes. He bought me one. I was floored; I had never gotten a toy just because before. The Barbie wasn’t the prettiest one I owned, and the dress was kind of ugly, but I loved that Barbie because my dad had gotten it for me.

I later learned that he had bought me the Barbie to make up for “ruining” the date by pouring stuff on my ice cream and brownie. I know I went on other daddy-daughter dates, but this is the only one I actually remember. I guess my dad was onto something with that steak-sauce ice cream.

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