There is a restaurant our family visits nearly every Tuesday night. We love the food, the house chianti can't be beat,and the staff there are great. One waiter in particular has become a friend, and we enjoy his skewed sense of humor. Dair, my 89 year old mother in law, loves this twenty-something fellow and looks forward to visiting him each week. In turn, he enjoys her and pours a glass of her favorite wine as soon as she walks in. Since she can't remember names, Dair would refer to this fellow as "the funny man," but recently he earned a new name.
One Sunday afternoon Dair's daughter and friend picked her up and took her out to lunch at our restaurant. Instead of being seated in "the funny man's" section, they were seated elsewhere. Dair was none too happy about it, but after some complaining, stayed put. However, our waiter friend brought her a glass of wine, on the house, and she stopped complaining and has now started calling him her "sweet thing."
We were eating there the other night and Dair had her glass of wine clutched in her right hand. When her soup arrived, she started eating it with her left hand (she's not left handed). As you can imagine, half of every spooful landed on her shirt. My husband asked her why she was eating left-handed, and she had no real answer, but continued doing it. "Maybe she's had a stroke," he said. Just then, she lifted the glass of wine to her lips. "Nope," I said, "she just isn't going to let go of that wine."
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