|Everybody repeat after me: Mmmmmmm!|
I was kicked out of a restaurant.
Oh, not literally.
It was more a politely-worded, “Would you please leave.”
But it amounted to the same thing.
Only with less violence.
But it was the irony of the situation that’s most memorable.
Maybe I should explain . . .
My Husby and I were out with a group of family/friends.
I thought I should point that out.
Moving on . . .
We had just finished a lively dinner and were working our way through an equally lively dessert.
I probably should also explain that we were dining at that greatest of all restaurants, the A & W.
And that we were the only grown-ups in the whole building.
Someone said something that was laudable (good word).
I can’t remember what it was, but it was definitely toast-worthy.
We all lifted our glass mugs of frosty-cold root beer in the traditional manner.
As seen on TV.
Like I say, I can’t remember what it was.
The pertinent point comes now.
With the gentle clicking together of said glasses/mugs.
Something none of us had ever done before.
Did you know that, to the uninitiated, the touching of glasses in a toast is tricky?
Well, it is.
The person across from me swung her drink back and . . .
Really? You have to swing?
. . . jammed it into mine.
Two hefty (guaranteed unbreakable) glasses . . . broke.
Amidst applause, laughter, and liberal dousing.
And then the ironic part.
Suddenly, standing beside our table was a young woman.
A very young woman.
We’re talking . . . thirteen? Fourteen?
Silence settled across the table as each of us turned to stare.
“I’m sorry, but you are disturbing the other customers,” she said, firmly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I looked around the room.
Every teen-ager in the place was looking at us.
Disgust uppermost in every expression.
What else could we do when popular opinion, under-aged though it was, stood so squarely (and justifiably) against us?
Sometimes even parents need correcting.
But lessons learned.