That was the first thing our waiter said to me when he arrived at our table.
Whitney Houston? My initial reaction was before or after she was on crack? (Was she on crack when she did The Bodyguard?)
I can’t complain too much because 1) he was a hottie; 2) he was friendly; and 3) he was a good waiter and actually put up with us quite well. (And when I say “us”, I mean me and my inability to properly read a menu and promptly decide on what I want.)
We didn’t go to the other place (there is a God) and Chili’s ended up being our final destination for dinner.
Somehow, wherever we go, we manage to illicit openness from the wait staff. At Bahama Breeze, we had our waiter doing some spasmodic dance that looked like a standing seizure and last night we had our waiter showing us his stab wounds.
Any time all three of us go anywhere together, it’s like we have a gravitational field of comfort around us drawing people in or something. I personally think 80% of that gravitational field has to do with my sister being a hottie, but it can also be how we interact with each other.
It even extends beyond restaurants, too. At Disney World last year we somehow managed to get Mickey Mouse to hand over his gloves so I could help direct the parade. I really don’t think I could have pulled that one off had I been by myself.
It goes to show you that people really do respond well to love and silliness.
For the enquiring minds – though there was speak about “the pictures”, I quickly squashed any plots to embarrass me before they even started.