So the other day I had to go to this swanky church dinner full of intellectuals and people with good table manners. I showed up in what I thought was a nice outfit - green dress pants and a black short-sleeved sweater. I was also wearing these slip-on sandals with heels. I was thinking I looked like a cross between Audrey Hepburn (add about 30 pounds though) and Coco Chanel ( of course I was alive and these people aren't). The woman that organized the whole event looked at my tastefully chosen ensemble and informed me in front of those assembled that she had four sweaters in the car in case I needed one later. We were eating outside. Four sweaters, this is someone who comes prepared for the worst - like a surprise cold snap in the mild of the entree.
When I arrived at the dinner the restaurant personnel mistakenly thought I was part of the wedding party that was also dining in the same area. I'm sure the mistake occurred because I look so young and vivacious. So I was asked at least twice when the rest of the party was going to arrive. I finally told them, I don't know, I'm with these people - that's why I'm sitting with them. ( I didn't really say that last part). This was after I crunched through the gravel bedding they have in the back yard of this restaurant so I guess it can also be used as a huge litter box. My heels were sunk down in the gravel while chunks of it was stuck between my foot and shoe.
After sitting down a friend of mine called on her cell phone so I had to get up and call her back. We were coordinating a drinks rendesvous, some things are more important than food.
When I got back I noticed a knat had committed suicide in my water glass. This is not something I find terribly disturbing because the previous night one had died in a similar fashion in the glass of water I keep by my bed. So instead of fishing it out with my finger I politely told the waittress I needed more water. She was ready to refill when I said, no, no, I need a new glass. So that situation was rectified.
I was then sailing along, chatting and eating when I went to cut my final piece of what to that point had been a delicious cheese-filled chicken roll. I cut into the remains of the bird and pow, the other piece of chicken flew off my plate into the middle of the table. Oh my gosh, I said, hoping no one had noticed (yeah, right, it was a small round table), yet trying to act apologetic in case someone had. I then quickly scooped the escapee off the table and onto the side of my plate. The dinner ended without further incident.
Later on I was telling the lady with four sweaters about the bug incident the next day said, well how could you see it? Just lucky, I said. Couldn't you have just drank it, she asked. After looking at her with what I'm assuming was a mix of horror and disbelief, I said, ah, no.