Fortunately, laughing at my foibles is an ability I possess. Unfortunately, eating politely is not: I bounce peas off the table, lose track of breadcrumbs, and cannot keep lettuce corralled in a salad bowl.
In 6th grade, when my class stopped at Good Gert’s Diner in Salt Lake City after our fieldtrip to the zoo, I put on my best behavior. Not wanting to be thought a country mouse, I sat straight, studied the menu, and with a graceful swish of my ponytail, ordered the fried chicken special.
When the waitress asked if I wanted soup or salad, I responded, “Yes.”
She asked again, “Soup or salad?”
Increasing my volume, I replied, “Yes, please.”
Exasperated, she tried once more: “Which one? Soup or salad? You can’t have ‘em both, girlie.”
I thought she was saying super salad. They still talk about it at class reunions. And I still laugh when…
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