Early-bird special

On Saturday afternoon, Beau and I ran some errands around town. And because I hadn't eaten lunch, I was starving by late afternoon.

In short, I made Beau eat dinner at 4:30.

We stopped in at an Italian restaurant in his neighborhood (but we didn't sit at the Sinatra table because it's cursed--another story for another day). There were two other couples in there. Both as old as the hills.

The one couple behind me chatted loudly with the bartender, discussing how they didn't like people with my politics (I kept my mouth shut out of respect for my elders).

But the interesting table was the one to our right. There was a tiny elderly couple in the corner. They started off with a HUGE carafe of wine (three people could put that much down and still have a bit of a stagger on the way out). It took both hands and all of his might for him to pour out of that thing.

And she kept making this really gross, yet terribly funny, phlegmy noise throughout.

Then their meals came. Two HUGE plates of spaghetti and meatballs (Beau and I usually split one there and there's still enough to take some home).

About a half hour later, she looked at him and asked Did you order a meal?

I gave Beau an incredulous look. She's sitting right in front of him, watching him eat a plate of spaghetti the size of his torso.

I only ask because I don't recall you ordering a meal. 

(Now, before you start chastising me for making fun of a woman who's lost control of her senses, let me tell you that she yelled her conversation throughout the meal and was as sharp as a tack.)


The husband simply smiled poured her more wine.

I had a sinking suspicion that I was looking at my future in that corner.

And Beau just smiled and poured me more wine [cough, cough, hork!].