Traveling alone, I befriend the hostess and waitress in an unassuming sushi restaurant near my hotel. The meal itself is beautiful. I sit alone to eat, so I am forced to overhear the cringeworthy pretentiousness spouted by some academics at the table behind me.
Taken off guard by the strength of the sake, the husband (I assume) mansplains to the (I assume) wife about how her recent unemployment is his opportunity. She chuffs slightly at this, but he is unfazed, going onto explain how specifically to he has the opportunity to “protect and provide” for her.
“Not in the patriarchal sense,” (ugh, they’re learning the lingo), but out of “love.” At this point, she is silent. She is no doubt trying to swallow the bitter pill of resignation to the fact that she’s in a moment of undesired dependence on this asshat. But also it would seem she’s grappling with the fact that she’s bound to this fucking moron who spent all of their meal monopolizing about the interdepartmental conflict at his university.
They’d order Fiji water and snap each time the busser comes by to top off with tap water. “This is Fiji!” He says with a tone which usually would be reserved for if this man had offered to top them off with urine. I paid my check and left shortly thereafter, not able to bear them a moment longer.