We went out to an Italian restaurant in honor of DS#2's birthday this past weekend, and I think it was probably the first time we'd gone for Italian in a couple of years, but one time was memorable:
Flashback to a Saturday night---Italian place in Georgia, people-watching while waiting for our table: Two couples waiting near us; two jeans-and-boots guys, all slicked up for a big evening out. Two ladies, mid-thirties, tight jeans, big hair; waist-length-halter tops which covered their fronts only.
First lady: "Hairl, go get me a beer."
Hairl: "Wait til the table. We'd need a tab, and I don't want two bills."
First Lady: "I don't know why he wants to come here---he don't like spaghetti."
Second Lady: "It TAKES too long to COOK---why do you bother with it? HE (motioning to other guy) likes Chinese....and MINIT RAAAAS is so quick---you just dump it in. I'll be glad when they get spaghetti like that."
(More conversation re: the remarkable marvel of those lasagna noodles you just lay in the pan right out of the box; I probably missed the best part when they were called to their table). I'm a shameless eavesdropper---sometimes I don't even avert my eyes. But I do hide the notepad.
Lest anyone think I'm being too hard on the Georgia contingent here, I'm FROM the South, a Dyed-in-the-Cotton G.R.I.T.S. Girl, so I'm ALLOWED.
After the above Hairl and his three companions departed, we were soon called to our table for eight. We had been separated for a bit, with the grownup kids finding seats in the crowded bar, while Chris and I sat in the knee-knocking-small "lobby" area with the little ones. I had expected their tab to follow us, to be added to our check, as is customary. We had been given one of those little house-arrest beeper things, for goodness' sake.
This place had been open only three weeks, I learned later, after we all had a giggle at the young woman who stood in the middle of the dining room, shouting almost hysterically, "SOMEBODY needs to PAIIIIIY this BAR TAB!!!! Who RUNN OFF and left this BAAAAAARRRR TAAAYABBBB???!!!"
We waved her over and took care of things, to another chorus of: "I come back in there and y'all had done RUNN OFF!!" I kept waiting for her to spell it out like in O, Brother, Where Art Thou?: R-U-N-N O-F-T.
That's us all right---we go on the lam all the time, but we're easy to spot: eight people, a babyseat and a BIIIIIG diaper bag.