Spiritual Liposuction

I'm a big believer in Spiritual Lipstick, and I apply it with a zeal that borders on ecclesiastical. As the lone woman in a house full of men it's really a matter of survival. I don't mind sitting through testosterone laden sporting events and machismo injected films if I can come home and reclaim my womanhood through a series of hyper feminine and often highly fragrant ablutions and/or rituals. I suppose to some they may seem silly. One cannot, after all, effect peace or abolish social evils with a new eyeshadow. But it's amazing how one's outlook can improve while having the dead skin sloughed from one's person.

I rely on these little pick me ups to get me through the drama that is a part of daily life when one has children. But sometimes Spiritual Lipstick isn't enough. After a summer of being Team Mom for Allstars, dealing 24/7 with a Spirited Child who has apparently inherited his mother's procilvity for insomnia and another on the cusp of adolescence, which apparently necessitates that he practice eye rolling and sneering contemptuously at every opportunity....I needed something a little more substantial.

So, for my mumblety mumbleth birthday, Husband arranged for his parents to take the boys for a WHOLE weekend. Wow. That's like Christmas, Birthday and Mother's Day all rolled into one. It's the motherlode of Spiritual Lipstick. Nay! It's....

Spiritual Liposuction.

What did we do? Well, we didn't go out dancing until dawn. We didn't get falling down drunk. We didn't have sex on the kitchen table. Years ago we might have. But those things lose their appeal with age, I believe. I'm secure enough to admit that I like sex in a bed, at night, not throwing up.

Friday night we went to a restaurant with no kiddie menu. They served nothing remotely resembling a nugget. There were no televisions, video games or crayons. There were no sponsorship plaques on the wall. There were no "Partner in Education" banners. Had there been, it is unlikely that I would have recognized them as such, as they would have been written in Farsi.

Yes, folks, we went to a decidely kid UNfriendly restaurant, (unless you happen to be a Persian kid) and it was FABULOUS.

Years ago, Husband decided to give freelancing/consulting a whirl (healthcare premiums...need I say more?) and went into partnership with a guy who called himself Kevin, but whose given name was Hamid (Hah-meed). He got us completely hooked on Persian Food and his wife helped Husband learn all the secrets of preparing it. After 8 years of experimentation, he is really good at it. However, prepartion takes hours and hours. I can't believe Persian women cook this way every day. They would have to be in a state of perpetual preparation. It's like an entire culture reached into my subconscious and pulled out my worst nightmare. The neverending meal....((shudder)).

Fortunately, I am not a Persian woman. But I can eat like one, thanks to Darvish. As is often the case with delicious little "diamond in the rough" eating establishments, Darvish is very unassuming from the outside. It's located in a nondescript little strip mall, tucked away in the corner where it is barely visible from the road. This means that unlike every other eating establishment in Metro Atlanta on a Friday night, you do not have to wait 45-90 minutes for a table. Standing up. Outside. It also means that nobody is rushing you out the door four seconds after you swallow the last bite to make room for a party of 37.

Our reservation was for 7:30 and when we arrived, only one other table was occupied. The ambience was, for all it's contrivance, (faux stonework on the walls, rough hewn "plank" tables, and worn looking "tapestry" covering everything) extremely charming in an old-world, fortress-y kind of way. The air was redolent with exotic spices and roasting meat. There was Persian music playing, which is sort of cacophonous, but also curiously mellifluous and...whimsical. Huge paintings of swarthy skinned men and sloe-eyed women hung from gilded frames, adding to the timeworn elegance. Along each wall were several tapestry covered platforms strewn with cushions and pillows intended for dining, which added to the distinctly authentic air of the place.

Since husband has a bum hip from a car wreck and I still have back problems from carrying a 9lb fetus, we chose a table for dining, but it did not detract at all from our enjoyment. Initially I was disappointed to find that the menu was somewhat limited, and many of my favorite dishes were not on it. I do understand however, that the amount of prep time that goes into most of these dishes would make offering an extensive menu somewhat of a logistical nightmare. You'd have to have a gargantuan kitchen and a staff of hundreds to pull it off. I do think the menu is diverse enough that there is something to please everyone. If you live in the metro area, and like to try new things, Darvish will not disappoint.

We ordered Kashk-o-Bademjoon for an appetizer, but they do serve complimentary appetizers of flat bread, two different yogurt sauces, goat cheese, sweet onion, mint and cilantro. You pile this all together onto the flat bread to make sort of a Persian taco. The combination of these simple but rich flavors is wonderful. Add the Kashk-o-Bademjoon, and it is indescribably delicious. I ordered Chicken Barg and Husband Ordered Kabob-e-Sultani, which we shared back and forth. All of it was delectable, but since Husband has this uncanny knack for always ordering the better tasting dish, it was no surprise that the Kabob-e-Barg that came with his entree was far superior to my Chicken Barg. We ate every single bite, and here is the wonderful thing about Persian food...We were satisfied, full even, but not overstuffed. And one does not experience that bloated, queasy feeling that often accompanies a greasy, fat laden, high carb American Meal.

We lingered over wine and dessert, we talked, we laughed. We watched the bellydancer, who, with flaming red hair and milky white skin, was not terribly authentic, but put on a very good show, and whom to my delight, had a tiny little pot belly and decidedly womanly hips. We talked suggestively to one another with real words instead of G rated euphemisms. We talked in complete sentences.

And you know, that was the best part. As wonderful as it was, it wasn't the food, the wine, or the ambiance. The best part of the evening was being able to jettison the heavy load of parental obligation and shed the skin of problem solvers extraoridinaire. We revelled in the freedom, naked of responsibility. And that my friends, is what Spiritual Liposuction is all about.

The rest of the weekend was remarkable for its uneventfulness. We relaxed and talked and read. We sat down, and did not get up until we were behooved to do so. We drank coffee...hot. We made no plans, but we did go to a movie because we felt like it; one with no children in the viewing audience. We did not spent 47.50 on concessions. We slept late. We made love with the bedroom door open. And once, just because I could, I screamed at the top of my lungs....

"OH YES BABY!! GIVE IT TO ME!! GIVE IT TO MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! YES! YES! YES! YES!"

Then we collapsed upon each other in a fit of giggles.

I suppose a good mother would say that she felt incomplete without her children. And perhaps if they had been gone a week or more, I would have missed my boys terribly. But the truth is, I didn't. I cherished every single moment of freedom and blessed, blissful, bountiful silence. I enjoyed seeing to my own wants and needs, first and only. I savored turning off for a while; disengaging the ole Mommy radar, and being just...me.

Spiritual Liposuction. Get some. Not only is my mental outlook vastly improved, I swear to God my thighs are thinner.