The Dinner
We went out to dinner on Friday night. Date night.Gloria wanted to try out one of those restaurants where if you knock a bread crumb off the table, a waiter dives and catches it before it hits the ground. If he doesn't catch it in time, he cries on your table and begs your forgiveness.
Gloria likes waiters that introduce themselves. I prefer to be handed a number that will be called out when the food is ready.
This restaurant had quite a menu, and as Gloria scanned it, she wrinkled her nose. "I'd really like to order the lamb," she said, "but I think I'd feel too guilty."
"The bad news for the lamb happened well upstream of this transaction," I said. "I'd order it."
She did.
While we were waiting, someone brought out a tiny bit of rabbit on a plate. Gloria nibbled at hers, then looked up at me as I pushed my plate away. "Are you going to try it?" she asked.
"No way," I said. "If I eat that, they'll bring me duck, then roadrunner, then coyote, and I'll eventually wind up with an entire fillet of Tasmanian Devil."
I'm quite sure I was right.
Dinner came, and Gloria started cutting into the lamb pieces, which were artfully arranged around a potato sculpture inspired by Fallingwater or something. "I still feel guilty," she said, chewing gingerly.
"Don't be," I said. "I'm sure that little girl who lost her lamb has stopped crying by now."
It's as close as I've ever seen Gloria get to a spit-take. A laughing one, fortunately.
Later, after she had almost finished the lamb, she said "I think I could go vegetarian some day. There are plenty of good vegetarian restaurants here."
"I went to a vegetarian restaurant with a girl once," I said. "I asked the waitress if she could arrange a plate of pecans in the shape of a steak."
"Well, try the lamb," she said, pointing with her fork at the remaining piece.
"I can't," I said. "I'm still thinking about that little girl."
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