It was the end of the week. There wasn't much in the pantry or fridge. The kids deserved a reward for bringing home good reports. Plus we had to buy a present for a birthday we were going to on the weekend.
All roads led to the gleaming, full-'o-promise metropolis of Westfield. We envisaged we would do a spot of shopping, then have a meal overlooking the intersection of Doncaster and Williamsons Roads. With any luck, we would sit together and talk about our wish list of things to do over the school holidays - something along the lines of a kids movie or two, gardening, some creative time for each of the adults in the house, and taking out the hard rubbish.
In the end, we spend too long lingering at JBs, the discount bookshop and the pet store with the pups who are too apathetic to respond to little kids tapping on the glass. Blood sugars are starting to get a bit low and the food court is beconing. We can't find one table that will fit us all by the windows, so we split up. After negotiating the crowds and gleaming bain-maries, we are finally sitting down to our meals. The kids have chosen a MacDonald's Happy Meal and a piece of lasagne on steroids. George makes his way through a lukewarm Thai-style mountain of two-colour meats, and I find I can't quite finish a 'small' Indian Thali dish with glow-in-the-dark rice.
A lady walks up and down our room with a view, collecting plates, discarding the remnants of oversized meals, and cleaning tables. Her depondent look and shuffling gait elicits a comment from our ten year-old daughter: 'Why would people choose to clean for a living?' I tell her that for us to have the priviledge of eating these meals, someone has to cook the food, someone has to wash the dishes, someone has to clean the tables after us. And people need to make money. My husband and I talk about the people who have cleaned for a living in our own families - both her grandfathers for example. I stop short of saying that most of us clean every day, but don't get paid for it. She decides that cleaning might not be a bad way to earn some money when she gets older - though she would prefer to work in Diva, an accessories shop, if she had a choice.
We feel decidedly quesy after the massive, glistening meals we have consumed. We zig zag our way past families with strollers and over-excited children in tow. We finally get out into the cool of the night, feeling mildly disgruntled. Actually, we are feeling downright argumentative. We realise we didn't talk about the school holiday wish list. My beloved regrets that he didn't order just a few pieces of sushi. The kids are thirsty. I hanker to get home to a cup of tea and a bit of quiet time.
The Westfield food court with a view might be full of promise, but I feel it will be a while before we return again. That is, until the next time it seems like a good idea.
How many times have we fallen for the same ideal . A meal, some shopping and fun family times... And somehow we too walk away empty handed and defeated . I guess it's true about the old cliche: all that gliters is not gold
Posted by: Voula | 25 June 2011 at 03:26 PM
Yes indeed Voula - especially the gilt-edged windows overlooking the intersection! Empty handed and defeated is an apt summary I think. Spiri.
Posted by: Spiri Tsintziras | 25 June 2011 at 03:58 PM