But I Digress. . .

Some years ago, my husband Perry and I met his brother Whitney and his wife for lunch at a seafood place near Deal, Maryland. Perry's five-year-old twin nieces were along.

We were seated at an outdoor table, and though there were no other guests, it took a long while before the waitress bothered herself to take our orders. She addressed the kids first.

"Would y'all like a Coke?" she asked.

"No, we're watching our caffeine. We'll take water," replied one.

With raised eyebrows, she ventured again. "How about a nice hamburger?"

"Just salad, please," said the other.

The baffled waitress took the rest of our orders, including an order of soup for me.

Fifteen minutes later, she could be seen exiting the front door of the place and heading our way. She charged up to our table and abruptly planted a bowl of soup in front of me.

"This isn't what I ordered," I pointed out.

She glared at me.

"Well, you're lucky to get that! The chef is in a mood."

Had we not been with family, we would have come up with a sharp rebuke and moved over to the only other restaurant there, The Pirate's Cove.