A high school couple’s first date at Ruby Tuesdays turns sour when the boy accidentally squirts lemon juice in the girl’s eye.
Telephone bill…weekly circular…credit card promotion addressed to my husband (do they not realize that he’s been dead for 12 years?)…bank statement…JUNK.
All of it.
Four days after I send him the birthday check and still I’ve heard nothing.
My grandchildren obviously think money grows on trees. They’ve never had to work hard to achieve anything in their lifetime. Oh no. Why would they have to do that? One whine, one complaint, one shrug of the shoulders and that daughter-in-law of mine gives in immediately. Always has. And my poor son…He tries so hard to raise them up right. He knows to stand when I enter the room. He lets me be the first to exit off the elevator. He realizes that when the server asks, “May I take your order?” it’s I who must respond first. But oh Deborah…She’s always had to do things her own way, hasn’t she? Our first meeting and she wore a skirt above her knees. She thought it was perfectly acceptable to call me Kendra after our first introduction. “Oh Kendra, I love your oriental rug…Oh Kendra that must be Lenox…Oh Kendra, those shoes are snazzy.”
Excuse me missy. It’s Mrs. Harold Johnson the third to you. Or did your wrong-side-of-the-tracks full-time-working mother skip that part of your manners lesson? Did you not own a copy of Emily Post’s guide to etiquette? Didn’t you ever learn the proper way to fold a napkin for a cocktail party? Or how to arrange mini quiches…
Oh goodness! The ceiling inside this less-than-average establishment must have sprung a leak. There’s a drop of condensation on my table! This is what happens when I collect my coupons and exchange them for half off the price of spinach and artichoke dip…Oh my goodness gracious! The young lass behind me must have been hit hard. She’s covering her eyes and appears to be wincing in pain…
Oh you musn’t be so dramatic, my dear. That is very unbecoming.
And the young man just sits there, clueless. Has he not read the section in Most Post’s instruction manual on unforeseen circumstances? Well obviously not. Surely she covers this.
He just sits on his hands while the waitress escorts his lady friend to the facilities. Don’t bother to ask if she’s all right. Truly that’s too much. Oh so now you’re only worried about the check? Just want to scurry out of here as quickly as possible, do you?
I bet a birthday gift is paying that bill. And I think it’s safe to say that this oaf has yet to write a thank-you note as well.
