Friday, October 8, 2010

"Party of Three."

They seated us on the patio, just under the speaker from the hostess stand. And thus their every announcement guided the boys' conversation, for the entire meal.

"Dave, Party of 4."

"Dave? Who's Dave?"

"He's probably the guy who just walked in."

"Where is he?"

"He probably just walked in. Over there. Inside."

"Steve, Party of 10."

"Hey, what's that noises? Who said that?"

"The girl at the hostess stand. Inside."


"She has a microphone."



"There?" Pointing to the speaker.

"Sure." I know, I know. It's a speaker, not a microphone. But I suspect you'd have given it a perfunctory nod, too.

"Robb, Party of 7."

"Robb? Is that Daddy?"

"No, Daddy is here with us. It's another Robb."

"Another Daddy?"

"Maybe." Not really. But who can answer all these questions with accuracy?

"Chris, Party of 6."

"Chris? I know him!"

"Is it him? Is it our friend?"

"I don't know. Could be."

"Steve, Party of 10."

"Ten? I love ten!"

We talked about every single family. Every-single-family.

Riveting details occupy the dinner conversation of a family of small children. Riveting.

No comments: