Bad Table

Where waiters and diners tell tales.

Do You Know Each Other?

My family and I — a matronly mom with graying long hair — were dining at an upscale Italian restaurant in Lafayette when I dropped my napkin. I reached down to pick it up. As I retrieved it, I gave a triumphant toss of my head, only to have my hair catch in the pants zipper of a passing gray-haired middle-aged dad. Our spouses watched with amusement as we slowly and gingerly did what it took to untangle ourselves. The waiter asked, “Do you two know each other?”

“We do now,” we answered.

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