Apropos Of Nothing

Romantic, right?

There's an Italian restaurant (bistro, really - we can only afford places where you order at the counter) that Larry and I like to frequent, dating fools that we are; the only problem is, one of the busboys (busman, really) always notices Larry's military-style haircut and comes over and thanks him for his service.

EVERY TIME, he does this.

I know he means well, but it gets old. Especially considering that, while we are glad to have served, our primary motivation for enlisting in the armed services was anything but altruistic. We needed jobs, people. It was that simple.

So, whenever we go to this place, we sit at our table sharing our Italian house salad and our cheesy garlic bread while muttering, "There he is.  Don't make eye contact. Gah, he's coming over here. DON'T LOOK."

One evening last year, I was out walking; and I saw this same guy drive into my neighborhood and get out of his car and all I could think was "Oh, Lord, he's stalking us to thank us for our service."  Turns out, the poor guy was merely delivering a pizza to our next-door neighbors.  But I hid behind some bushes anyway, so he wouldn't discover where we live.

I just felt like sharing that.  You're welcome.


[Italian table image: ifoodtv]