Written March 16, 2010

Before I explain the title above, I must provide some preliminary information:

For parent's week both my Mom and my Dad were in town for parents weekend. I really enjoyed their company. We went took a boat ride to Greenwich, went inside the Queen’s house, and up to the top of the hill to straddle the prime meridian line. We also went to the Royal Naval Museum, and had lunch at a pub. It was nice to be in the open air (when compared to South Kensington) and see something new in London. Then I came back to the house to do a couple loads of laundry and my parents went to the V & A for a couple hours. What came after was a night of firsts.

First, my mom and dad came down to the laundry room after I showed them around the lounge and the kitchen. Originally just following me to get a look at our laundry area, they ended up helping me with my laundry. As a result, my Dad ended up with a few of my hang dry clothes over his shoulder as we walked up the stairs. So “first” number one, my Dad helped me with my laundry.

Obviously, we had to eat dinner. I couldn’t decide where to bring my parents. I really enjoy the food here, but my mom isn’t a big fan of Lebonese or Indian food, it doesn’t really agree with her stomach, so our choices were a little limited. We ended up going to Da Mario’s, which is a regular group dinner restaurant for the London House (basically, we are spoiled). The place was full when we walked in. They brought us downstairs, and I thought, "Here’s normal old Da Mario’s", but then they brought us into a room I have never seen before, in all my many nights at Da Mario’s. To top it off, the service was fast, and the food was more delicious than usual.

My Dad decided to order some wine. Are you bracing yourself for first number two? He looked over the wine menu and asked my Mom what she wanted. Then, the waiter asked him if he wanted a bottle or not. He asked my mom. She said, “Well maybe Alanna wants some.” I think it dawned on my Dad at that very moment that I am actually of drinking age in London. I think he knew it before while he was in America and I was here in London, but it was almost as if he realized that now I could drink while he was in the room. He asked me if I wanted any. I said, “Maybe a little,” so as to not be over zealous and appear like a raging alcoholic to my somewhat reluctant father.

The wine came and the waiter poured first into my Dad’s cup and next into mine. Our waiter was filling my glass up to the line, and as he was about half way there, my Dad freaked out a little bit, held his hand up, and asked him to stop. I was left with half a glass of wine, which was a bit comical. We had dinner, and I had my first drink with my Dad, at 20 instead of 21 because I’m in London in the United Kingdom, studying abroad. My mom would like to say that was a big moment, as if I’m all grown up now that I’ve had wine with my father at Da Mario’s accompanied with Rigatoni Da Mario and garlic bread. I’m not certain how I feel about it. Maybe.