(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’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.
The waitress’s response is the above title of this blog post.
Masking my disappointment concerning the meatballs, I had made a salvaging joke.
And the brutal reaction was…
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.