Check your zipper. The staff here is not normally this attentive – they are just curious. At least put a napkin in your lap.
Your house will be unexpectedly sold by your spouse who, you will soon learn, has a serious eBay addiction and needs the cash to buy civil war memorabilia they inexplicably feel compelled to collect.
You will be surprised to hear from an old classmate. As it turns out, they are contacting you for a reason: they are just this desperate to brag to someone about their latest promotion. You’ll feel badly but will pretend that you don’t.
Your friends do not find your story this riveting: they are fixated on the large piece of broccoli between your two front teeth.
Your date asked us to tell you to leave. Don’t make a fuss. Just go. She’ll get a cab.
My phone number is 317-555-xxxx. I’m the waiter with the tattoo and the earring. Call me. Soon.
Next time, chew with your mouth closed. It will make dining less stressful for everyone.
20 February 2008
Fortune Cookies I Would Like to See
Tonight, for reasons too convoluted to explain, I ended up with three fortune cookies, wondering why every culture doesn’t have the equivalent. Why can’t there be fortune matzo balls, or fortune tacos or fortune naan? The idea is a great one but, sadly, artists in the medium too often resort to cliche, leaving its potential untapped. Here are some fortune cookies I’d like to see.