Sunday, January 27, 2008


We went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant with two other couples tonight to celebrate the Engineer's birthday. There was a huge party in the back room and our waiter was new, so service was excruciatingly slow. One couple had predinner cocktails in multiples. A bottle of wine was ordered with dinner. And then some more wine.

I am not a drinker. Not on moral grounds or anything highfalutin like that, I just don't like my grape juice spoiled. This has turned out to be to the advantage of the Engineer's family, as they all imbibe and have a built-in designated driver in me.

The other nice thing about not drinking is I get to watch the drinkers...

Mrs. A. was sitting between Mr. A. and the Engineer. She's an itty bitty thing who might weigh all of 98 pounds on a fat day. By the time dinner finally arrived, she was pretty well lubricated as was her spouse. When she emptied her own wine glass, she picked up the Engineer's and drained it. She never realized it wasn't her glass, she just saw wine and drank.

On the other side of her, Mr. A. was telling Mr. B. how delicious his lamb chops were and insisting Mr. B. try one. Mrs. A decided that Mr. A. was done eating and thought that the Engineer should eat Mr. A.'s one remaining lamb chop. Meanwhile, the waiter brought a take-home container because Mrs. A. never finishes her meal.

After a couple more glasses of wine, as we were waiting for the cook to catch, kill and prepare desert (at least that's the only reason I can think of that it took so long), Mr. A. decided he wanted his last lamb chop and discovered that his plate was no longer on the table. All was not lost, however, Mrs. A. had a take-out box, so his lamb chop must be in there.

Mr. A. scooped up the take-out box, popped open the lid and started digging through Mrs. A.'s left over rabbit with his coffee spoon. He did not find his lamb chop.

He turned to his wife and asked in a very loud voice, "Where's my lamb chop?"

"I gave it to the Engineer," she said.


"I gave it to the Engineer and he ate it."

At this point, Mr. A. turned to the Engineer and announced loudly enough to turn heads all over the restaurant, "You stole my lamb chop!"

We finally managed to mostly calm Mr. A. down by telling him it was the Engineer's birthday so he deserved the lamb chop and that Mrs. A. truly wasn't trying to starve him by giving it away.

Until we went to our separate cars, though, he kept glaring at the Engineer and muttering, "You stole my lamb chop."

I suspect this will be a lamb chop that lives forever in infamy.

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