Last week we went out to lunch. I went to the bathroom, came back, and found Gary talking to all six people at the next table.
“YOU KNOW SOME PEOPLE WON’T EAT BOLOGNA BUT HOW COULD YOU NOT EAT IT HERE IT’S REALLY GREAT EVERYTHING HERE IS GREAT.” (Salt and Smoke on St. Charles Main Street, if you’re wondering.)
I sat down. “I see you’ve met my husband.” They laughed, but they seemed happy that he joined their conversation. I mean, it’s not like this is England, or some other place where strangers keep to themselves.
Then, a few days later, we were at Waffle House. (Lots of meals out because Gary has evidently lost interest in being the family chef.) He was paying the bill at the counter and said to a little girl, in a normal tone so as not to frighten her, “I see you have some bacon there.”
The girl said nothing, because what do you say to “I see you have some bacon there?”
He continued, “Do you like bacon? It’s good isn’t it?”
The girl said nothing, because her father was right there and his body language said, “Stranger Danger.”
According to Gary, the girl gave him “a look” that said, “This IS some damn fine bacon, but still I’m here with my estranged Dad at a Waffle House and we haven’t said anything to each other this whole meal, so I’m not going to chat YOU up.”
(I added on that last part. According to Gary, the girl just gave him a “wise” look that indicated the “appreciated the bacon.”)
Still! I mean! Engaging strangers in conversation about pork products! Such behavior, when he could just have a blog.