My son is now old enough that he makes a very good lunch date. Scintillating conversation. A shared appreciation of interesting cuisine. We have a good time.
I especially like taking him to some of my old haunts, the cafes of St. Mark's place, where I spent many an evening in my twenties. Afterwards we go to St. Mark's Comics and get comics for him and his dad and it's pretty much the most pleasant an afternoon a person could ever hope to have.
A week or two ago, we were regarding the menu at one such cafe, when Primo asked me if I'd like to share a malted.
"They have milkshakes here?" I asked, surprised.
It was a Moroccan joint so that struck me as odd.
"Yeah," he went on, "It says right here, 'Single Malt. McClelland's."
I broke out into laughter. It is a testament to what a cool kid Primo is that he doesn't get offended by this. In fact, he rather likes it.
"What Mom?" he asked, mailing himself.
"Honey, that's not a malted," I told him, "It's a kind of whisky."
We had a good laugh about that, then we feasted on eggs and hummus.
An absolutely idyllic afternoon with a dreamboat of a boy. In fact, I'm going to do myself a favor and crown that afternoon, "Early Mother's Day" so as to avoid disappointment this Sunday. One can try . . .
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