Pasta with a side of bird flu

Last night. Mr. eHarmony and I had dinner with my friends Alice and Jack. It was a gorgeous June night, and carefully planning ensured that we had reservations at an outside table at a nice restaurant.

It was fun. When Mr. eHarmony excused himself from the table, Alice and Jack were both very kind, saying they really liked him, giggling like junior high girls about how super nice he was.

Ok, maybe Jack wasn’t giggling like a junior high girl. A manly junior high girl who’s really into softball, maybe.

The night was beautiful, the conversation was entertaining and the wine was flowing.

And then?

And then there was a loud crash. And a dead, bloody bird dropped into Alice’s lap.


Evidently, a hawk had kidnapped a bird. And the bird’s little bird friends were all, “WTF! Let our friend go, you big hawk bastard!” So, the hawk let the bird go, leaving it to careen down to earth with a bloody thud.

Alice’s beautiful white blouse was spattered with blood. There were feathers in all of our half-eaten entrees. The entire restaurant turned in shock, and a true gentleman at the next table jumped up and scooped up the dead bird in his napkin before we could even react.

I hustled Alice off to the ladies, where we stripped off her shirt and doused her bloody arm in mouthwash (“I’m sure it has alcohol in it – it will prevent bird flu!”). Luckily, I was wearing a jacket, so she had a replacement top. And we thoroughly entertained the ladies in the restroom. We couldn’t stop laughing.

And then?

And then we got back to the table, where everything had been cleared, with the exception of one glass of water. And the bill. The complete bill with no discount.

Excuse me?

We addressed that with the manager, but I’m still peeved. Umm? We wanted more drinks? And dessert? Not even for free, but like, because we were hungry? And now? We just hate you?

Alice called me this morning and left this voice mail message: “Cha Cha, it’s Alice. Listen. I woke up this morning thinking that a dead, bloody bird landed in my lap last night. And then I thought, ‘Did that really happen? No WAY did that really happen.’ So, I’m calling you to make sure that yes, I really had a dead, bloody bird fall from the sky into my lap last night. As you do. Call me back.”

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