Cranky, Cranky, Cranky!

And for once, I'm not talking about me! I still have a terrible cold but figured I really needed to make the effort to go to lunch with Adam's family. After all, it is mother's day (and I got a lovely mother-to-be present from Adam and Brown Brown. It was quite wonderful). We were meeting them at a restaurant, only Adam couldn't remember how to get to this restaurant, and his father conveniently turned his cell phone off. We're driving around and around and around. We called information, but they couldn't find what we were looking for: an Italian restaurant with the name Jiavelli or Giavelli or something like that in Chelsea. We're driving and driving. Adam stops in a Dunkin Donuts to ask them (and get me a glazed donut, because by now I'm starving), but they've never heard of it. Finally, I end up calling my father in Miami Beach and have him get on the Web and find the place. He's looking up all the "G" and "J" places in Chelsea. No luck. Adam's certain it's in Chelsea, but we have Peter check Revere. Nope. Everett? Not there. We are now 40 minutes late to a lunch that we had actually requested be held earlier (so Adam could study for this week's finals and because I had dinner plans that were on the earlyish side), and we're driving and driving and driving and Adam is getting crankier and crankier. I've had my sugar fix and I'm on Sudafed (one of the few pregnancy-approved drugs), so I'm actually in a fine mood. After about fifteen minutes, Peter hits on it: Jevalli's in East Boston. By the time we show up, Adam's fuming that his family didn't call to check on us so we could get directions. Apparently, his father doesn't have his cell phone number plugged into his phone. Adam stewed all through lunch, which is always comedy with his eighty-plus-year-old grandmother and his around-ninety-year-old uncle. Any little comment is sure to strike disbelief and much conversation. For instance, when discussing whether or not to take leftovers home (neither Adam nor I are fans of the food there), I said, "No point in us taking it home. Adam doesn't eat leftovers." His grandmother exclaims, "What?" so his father shouts to her, "Adam doesn't eat leftovers!" "What? Did you say Adam doesn't eat leftovers!" she says loudly in horror, and his father responds, "Yes, Adam doesn't eat leftovers." "Why doesn't Adam eat leftovers?" she asks. The still-cranky Adam just shrugs and says, "I just don't," and his mother adds, "Adam's never liked leftovers." So his grandmother turns to the cousins at the other end of the table and says, "Adam doesn't eat leftovers!" Of course, making conversation, they say, "He doesn't?" and his grandmother replies, "No! He says he doesn't like them! Adam just doesn't eat leftovers!" What makes this even more amusing for me, is that we had almost the exact same conversation at Passover and at a party his parents' held last summer. When I mention it at the next lunch, I'm guessing I'm in for a repeat. I find it all hilarious, and have problems keeping from giggling, but it just annoys Adam. Which only ensures that the next time we're all together I'll be sure to mention it.