Polite to the point of distraction
We were late getting settled in for the evening, so I missed the early performances this week. Not to worry, because one can always play catch-up in a few hours, but still, Simon’s retort to one enthusiastic contestant bears repeating: “It’s fine being artistic; just not on this show.” Oh my! The real American Idol competition starts now, and the irony is that we have some true artists in the game. How much restraint should someone practice?
Our late slip came from a birthday supper, as the baby is now old enough to drive (not on my watch) or go off to foreign wars (as long as he doesn’t leave the safety of our living room). We opted for an oldfashioned steak and potato supper at one of our favourite restaurants. Let me mention how polite we are. The waitress rose to the level of her own competencies, and no member of our party received exactly what we had ordered. Switched sauces, meat that would have been rare in my kitchen, potatoes that just would not cool down. Just the same, when the standard question on our satisfaction came up, we all affirmed that things were “fine”. How do you explain to a trained professional that things aren’t hunky-dory (especially when no seafood is involved)? You don’t; tomorrow night things will be better because we’ll be in complete control.
I’ve learned that honey is complicated. Spreadable (you see, a new category for me) is unsuited for putting in tea (people do that?). At least we won’t have to bargain with the campground ants any time soon.
