Speaking of digestion...it turns out that my lack of focus can occasionally plague the enjoyment of my mealtime. "Your enjoyment?" Savannah stressed bitterly, "What about OUR enjoyment?"
I was recently partaking of a lovely breakfast with my daughters, Savannah and Sydney, as well as my niece, Brianna at a popular little hometown diner in Connecticut. The walls were strewn with nostalgic memorabilia to occupy the wait-time of the many hungry customers that filled the booths and tables of the restaurant. I took note of an old-fashioned sled, some tin canisters, and antique signs advertising still-popular products. And then my eye caught sight of a slightly-hideous hand-painted ceramic statue. When I was little, my mother would go to "Ceramics" with my Aunt Sally. No...that is NOT code for "going to the bar." With a keen eye for fine detail and a strong sense of perfectionism, my mother meticulously painted items for her family members. I still have my ceramic lamp shaped like a little girl holding a dog. I was green with envy when my mom painted my brother a glossy black and white pinto statue. These were treasures. What I was looking at in the restaurant was NOT.
"Are those cats," I asked, squinting, stirring two...nope, make that three, generous spoonfuls of sugar into my coffee while Brianna wrestled with her meal selection process. Used to this, Savannah and Sydney barely looked before emphatically answering, "Yes." "I really like sausage biscuits and gravy," Brianna said, scanning her menu for the umpteeth time, "but the French toast looks really good too." "Order what you want," I said helpfully, still staring at the art atrocity sitting on a shelf above me. "They have the colorization of papillons," I remarked. "What's a pap-OW!" Sydney asked, before her sister kicked her under the table. "Don't encourage her," Savannah hissed before telling Bree that the sausage biscuits and gravy came served as a very generous portion. "But they both look so good," Brianna agonized as I waved the waitress over for her opinion. "Order them both," I told my niece before grilling the waitress:
Me: What is that a statue of?
Confused waitress: I don't know. (Squints) Cats?
Me: Do you think that it could be a pair of papillons?
Confused waitress: What's a papillon?
Savannah: (moans) Oh no...here we go.
Bree: I'd like to place my order now.
Sydney: (mutters to herself): Wouldn't we all.
Me: (to Brianna) Hold on a second. (to quickly-losing-patience waitress): A papillon is a small spaniel with feathery ears that resemble the wingspan of a butterfly. It is also notable for a colored mask that settles over its eyes...very similarly to the creatures in THAT statue (I point dramatically...my girls sink lower in their seats...Bree waits impatiently to order her breakfast(s)...the waitress realizes that this conversation is definitely NOT worth the tip)!
"I'll have the sausage biscuits and gravy AND the french toast, please," my petite niece jumped in. "Two orders?" the waitress asked, surprised, glancing at me for confirmation. Still mesmerized by the unknown identity of the statue, I nodded dismissively. I was in a trance for the next ten minutes until I was pulled from my stupor by the arrival of a LOT of plates. I scooched down to the end of the table to make room for Bree's breakfast. "How did THAT happen?" I asked Savannah. Glancing back at the ceramic statue, Savannah said, "I don't know. Guess you have another mystery to solve."
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