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(Watch the fool, calibrating the dashes.  Two less.  One more.)

Lunching at Superba with Dr. M, where they serve one of my favorite dishes – chicken meatballs and polenta.  It is in fact… wait.  I went back and added a dash.  Now it’s perfect.

Okay, where was I?  Oh yeah.

It is in fact the reason we had chosen Superba.

I had a hankering for chicken meatballs and polenta.

Our tiny water glasses are filled.  (More on those later.  Building the fulminating suspense.)

Dr. M orders.

Then, politely waiting my turn,

I order.

“I’ll have the chicken meatballs and polenta.”

It is then I receive the heartbreaking report.

“We only serve chicken meatballs after four o’clock.”

It is now noon.

I reply what I think any reasonable person with a lifetime in comedy would say.

“I’ll wait.”

The waitress’s response is the above title of this blog post.

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Total silence.

Masking my disappointment concerning the meatballs, I had made a salvaging joke.

And the brutal reaction was…

Nothing.

Not a smile.

Not a blink of confusion.

Not an exasperated grunt.

I’d have accepted an exasperated grunt. 

A frustrated roll of the eyes.

The wryly disparaging

“We have a comedian in the house.”

All are demonstrably better than

“--------------------“

Was there a chance she hadn’t heard me?  No.  I had delivered it with confidence. 

She just didn’t laugh.

Dr. M deftly changes the subject by proposing an alternate option from the menu – the “grain bowl with chicken.”

Which I begrudgingly accept.

And that’s that.

Later (as previously promised) as the waitress filled them for the fourth time, I told her that if they used larger water glasses, they would not have to keep filling them up.

I saw her lips move, but coldly blew off her answer.

“I’ll wait” was funny, dammit!

Wait.  I am adding a dash.

No, too much.