I'm having a late dinner at the diner. When I walk in, the teen-something counter dude seats me (in an almost empty restaurant) right next to three tables of post-date bright young things, who are self-absorbingly nattering about matters that won't matter ten years from now in a most stentorian manner. When my waitress (who I've had before) comes to take my order, she looks over at the loudsters and says to me, "this isn't Thanksgiving". I shoot her a questioning look and she continues, "...so you don't have to eat at the children's table- would you like to move to somewhere a bit more quiet?"
I gratefully accepted.
Thank you, kind waitress, thank you.
Sent from my HTC PUREQUIET™, a Windows® phone from the other side of the restaurant.
The Inn of Infinite Sadness, or alternatively, Smudge and Hobbes' Traumatising Transcendental Transatlantic Trip. Being the adventures of two very large, unwillingly peripatetic, half-Bengal cats and their owner (of rather similar description) as they prepare to leave the North American continent in search of a new life in their (the cats, not the owner) ancestral homeland of Aneda. Sigh, what I won't do for a decent cup of tea.
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