Valentine's Day. A night of love, laughter, and...desperately trying to find a fast food drive-thru to save the day!

That was the unexpected ambiance for my Valentine’s Day Date Night.

Let me set the scene for you:

We arrived in romantic spirits at 8pm for our dinner reservation. We're greeted warmly, seated promptly on the charming outdoor patio, and presented with menus and waters.

My lovely fiancé is glowing like a February sunset in her pink blouse.

The evening hums with anticipation, the cool air warmed by romance and propane heaters, live piano jazz plays in the background.

She orders a glass of wine. We choose our appetizers, entrees, “oh the desserts look phenomenal, too!”

A symphony of culinary delight is about to unfold with the promise of a delicious meal.

I’m savoring the moment….“Does life get any better than this?”

(Little did we know, we were about to be served up a comedic tragedy of epic proportions, a masterclass in testing the limits of human patience, and ultimately, a valuable lesson in learning when to say "enough!")

“It’s so peaceful out here on the patio” I comment to my date.

And then I start thinking, “A little too peaceful….where has our waiter gone? That wine?”

No wine for my lady, no appetizer, just the lingering melody of the piano and the growing rumble of our empty stomachs.

“Ah finally….only thirty minutes for a glass of wine but at least we are moving in the right direction.” I acknowledge to myself.

Fifteen minutes after the wine (at forty-five minutes since we ordered if you’re keeping track of the time), the waiter informs us that our chosen appetizer has mysteriously vanished, devoured by another diner.

We shrug it off, roll with the punches, and order the shrimp plate instead.

But what arrives thirty minutes after our revised appetizer order is a culinary masterpiece yet devoid of plates, silverware, and napkins.

“I’ll be right back with those…” we are promised.

We wait…and wait…I ask for assistance from another server….and wait some more.

It seemed like we had become the characters in a Netflix movie we watched last weekend — we might not really exist.

Time stretches, patience frays, and existential questions begin to bubble up:

"Are we now invisible?”

“Is this some sort of simulation?”

“Are we part of that old TV show ‘Candid Camera’?”

“Is the name of this restaurant really ‘The Black Hole’?”

We’ve been at the restaurant for an hour and a half….

My fiancé, ever the pragmatist, drops the truth bomb: "If this were our first date, it would be our last."

My nervous laughter erupts (ha-ha).

Oh she’s serious. Very serious. And very hungry.

Finally, the breaking point arrives.

Ignored, invisible, and famished, we decide to cut our losses and seek sustenance elsewhere.

Fast food might not have been the most romantic option, but at that point, even a combo meal from “Slim Chickens” (love that name) was delightful.

So, what did this Valentine's Day fiasco teach me?

It wasn't just about the broken “I’ll be right back” promises of our waiter or the disappearing food. It was about the power of saying "enough."

We often find ourselves tolerating inconveniences, swallowing our frustration, and contorting ourselves to fit into situations that don't serve us.

We tell ourselves, "It's not a big deal," or "They're just having a bad day," or the ever-popular (at least here in the Carolinas), "Southern hospitality means things move slower around here."

But there's a difference between patience and self-sacrifice.

There's a fine line between understanding and accepting the unacceptable.

And sometimes, the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and those around us is to recognize when that line has been crossed.

Saying "enough" isn't about being rude or demanding; it's about setting boundaries and advocating for your own well-being.

So, the next time you find yourself in a situation that's testing your patience, remember that it's okay to say "enough," to walk away, and to seek out experiences that nourish your soul instead of starving your sanity.

And who knows, you might just end up with a story even funnier (and more satisfying) than mine. 🙂