Dinner theater
May. 25th, 2008 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tedwordsLast night, after shopping for cars, Corb and I ended up at a restaurant that Buns and josie and I used to frequent, many years ago. It's a Rhode Island tradition called Greggs, and the air was filled with the smell of vinegar from the french fries and the harsh sounds of thick Rhode Island accents. Good food, though.
We sat in back of an older couple who were evidently on their first date. He was wearing a big cowboy hat and a jean jacket with "Loretta Lynn" embroidered on the back. She had a mop of tossled grayish hair piled atop her head, and a commanding voice immediately got my attention. Corb and I just sat there, listening to the conversation as if it were dinner theater.
"Now, I'm an alchoholic," she said. "I admit it! So if I ever do anything to embarrass you, or say something loudly that I shouldn't, I totally understand it if you just say to me, 'Look. That's it.' I totally understand it, and I wouldn't blame you one bit. Because I've done that, you know. Had too much to drink. Said things. Embarassing things. So if you, 'Time out,' I totally get it."
He had a scratchy, throaty voice, from one too many cigaretts. It was hard to hear all that he said. "No, I don't think that'll be a problem. I totally..." And then his voice died down.
The conversation bubbled up after a few minutes. "So he dove into the water, and when he came back up, I could see, clear as could be, that he had tears running down his eyes."
"How's that possible?" Corb asked me.
"And I looked at him and said, end of sentence. End of story. That's it."
He mumbled something to her.
"Yeah, my friend Janice had the same thing happen. And I said to her, 'kid, cry your eyes out, Go into a room and just let itr all out. And then, when that's all over, look in a mirror, wipe the tears away, put your make-up on, and go out there and face him again. Because that's all you can do, you know?"
I tell you, it was better than listening to Lynn Samuels.
We sat in back of an older couple who were evidently on their first date. He was wearing a big cowboy hat and a jean jacket with "Loretta Lynn" embroidered on the back. She had a mop of tossled grayish hair piled atop her head, and a commanding voice immediately got my attention. Corb and I just sat there, listening to the conversation as if it were dinner theater.
"Now, I'm an alchoholic," she said. "I admit it! So if I ever do anything to embarrass you, or say something loudly that I shouldn't, I totally understand it if you just say to me, 'Look. That's it.' I totally understand it, and I wouldn't blame you one bit. Because I've done that, you know. Had too much to drink. Said things. Embarassing things. So if you, 'Time out,' I totally get it."
He had a scratchy, throaty voice, from one too many cigaretts. It was hard to hear all that he said. "No, I don't think that'll be a problem. I totally..." And then his voice died down.
The conversation bubbled up after a few minutes. "So he dove into the water, and when he came back up, I could see, clear as could be, that he had tears running down his eyes."
"How's that possible?" Corb asked me.
"And I looked at him and said, end of sentence. End of story. That's it."
He mumbled something to her.
"Yeah, my friend Janice had the same thing happen. And I said to her, 'kid, cry your eyes out, Go into a room and just let itr all out. And then, when that's all over, look in a mirror, wipe the tears away, put your make-up on, and go out there and face him again. Because that's all you can do, you know?"
I tell you, it was better than listening to Lynn Samuels.
