A friend invited me to a Stitch & Bitch. Let us remember the last time I picked up knitting needles they ended up in the wall of the Idaho mobe. Refresh your memory here. Now, add French. For obvious reasons I am enjoying the wireless internet, while casually casting evil eyes at the talent surrounding the table. For all they know I have bad eye sight and need to squint....with daggers. (Sinister laugh followed by an honest sad sigh.)
The top of my tights are digging into my ample mid section creating unusual rolls both on top of the elastic and below. I am one sexy kitten. Meow! Gag! Casually I tucked my tummy under the table. My thoughts drift to accidentally breaking my P90X cd's. I know it hasn't been very long and I am not 100% consistent (90% is close), but I honestly thought I would see some improvement.
I am attempting to speak in French tonight. (A chorus of crickets have started chirping at my end of the table.) The waiter played along with my unforgiving French. I thought (key word) I ordered a glass of white wine and a Pellegrino. Tipping the tray upon his arrival I had a healthy serving of vodka on ice and a glass of vin blanc (white wine), a Pellegrino and a bottle of wine. Hummmm.... maybe I shouldn't order in French, ever again!
After getting over that ridiculous error and my cheeks started to return to their natural color. We held our glasses to celebrate our gathering, three people said sante' and one said "salud". I sunk lower into my chair. A nervous giggle (in English...hee hee) squeaked through my trembling lips.
I really wanted to order a dessert, but refrained. I would most likely end up with a medium rare steak.
The exposed brick walls adorned with local art, the cabinet filled with novels, the wood floors historical to sight and the miss match chairs filled me with French delight...
The waiter caught my eyes and an encouraging smile crossed his face.