The Best Entertainment

When on vacation, sometimes the best entertainment comes from eating at a restaurant. 

     You have people from all over the country, perhaps the world, sitting in one room eavesdropping on the conversations going on at the tables next to them. Some of those people even managing to scarf down a forkful of food in the process.  

     When I was in line to order my vegetarian meatballs at IKEA, (see 7-7-2025's IKEA Is Not For MEA) the lady in front of me ordered the soup du jour. The very nice cafeteria worker served her a bowl and handed it to her with a friendly, "Here you go, ma'am." 

     Taking one look at the contents, the lady complained, "Excuse me, sir, but I've had soup du jour before and this certainly isn't it!" 

     When it was my turn I asked for extra mashed potatoes. 

     "They're as mashed as mashed can be," the server told me.

     He no longer had my sympathy. 

     Another time in another restaurant--a fancier one--my wife and I were having a  couple's dinner with my buddy Maloney and his wife... and her mother. 

     "She invited herself," Maloney told me. 

     It was his way of apologizing. 

     At this snooty restaurant, my buddy was given a choice by our culinary liaison between bottled water or "the one with bubbles." His mother-in-law warned him against drinking carbonated water. 

     "It's full of carbs," she said. 

     This bit of misinformation coming from a lady who believes Elvis is still alive. 

     All this reminds me of the time my wife was pregnant with our youngest daughter. Being ready to pop she was, um, shall we say cranky? I use the word cranky only because there's not another one available to make it sound nicer than it was. 

     We were enjoying a nice morning meal at Village Inn when a cousin of mine, whom we hadn't seen since our wedding the year before, bounded through the door with her husband. 

     She screamed excitedly from across the room when she saw us. Running over, she looked at my wife's bursting belly and exclaimed, "Oh, my God, are you hiding a basketball?" 

     My wife's laugh was as dry as the toast on her plate.

     Without asking, my cousin leaned forward to put unwanted hands on my wife's baby bump.

     "What are you having?" she asked. 

     My wife gave her a look like she was a side dish we hadn't ordered.

     "Breakfast," my wife said.