The Lady and I tried to repair the weekend's events by trying a Thai on Hudson which will remain nameless. We sat opposite each other and forced our smiles: trying to ignore either the whiff of damp or the fragrant waiter who should have been a Thai Elvis impersonator. The food was limp and unlovingly prepared - despite the chirpy cries of the waiter, "Every-fing Alrigh'?"
In times like this, the Lady always thinks everything is a sign: the manufactured food was a symbol of our relationship. I wish she was concentrating on the eternal optimism of the waiter instead...
Posted by Guy Brighton on March 15, 2004 at 11:01 PM
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