My wife just had a birthday. In the interest of protecting all parties involved I won’t divulge her age, but she’s a year older than me and I’m thirty-eight. So anyway, we went out for dinner. I wouldn’t say it was romantic, but in some circles it might qualify; it was dimly lit, there were no kids present, we drank wine and made light conversation. It was nice. It was expensive too, but it was nice.
Of course we did happen to overhear a rather chatty daughter prattle on to her father and who I assume was a friend of hers about: meetings for work, friends who are tolerable when they’re sober, and making art designs in the leftover ashes and cigarette butts in the ashtrays at grandma’s house back in the day. Don’t worry, she said it didn’t seem gross or anything (playing in an ash tray and all) to her at the time. She didn’t know why though. It was nice.
They eventually left, we asked for the bill, and finished our bottle in that order. The greeters became adieu bidders as we exited the building and walked out into the mild Houston night. We discussed the evening and what we could do. More drinks? (more money = no) Go to listen to some music at a bar? (sounds like drinks and money = no) Pragmatism and a thin wallet prevailed in the end, we would head home, the long way, a mild compromise.
But before we could turn the corner to head towards the awesomeness of the Dodge Caravan, we heard footsteps and a call “Sir!” from one of the hostess’ “did you forget your wallet?”. She held the wallet above her head and wore an inquisitive look to indicate her concern. I turned around, checked my pockets, pulled out my wallet “No, here’s mine right here” and held my card holder above my head to indicate everything was good on my front. I thought to myself “that was nice” and we continued walking towards the yet to be washed awesomeness of the minivan. As we came within ten feet of the Caravan, our concerned hostess was back again “Are you sure you didn’t forget your wallet?” she began opening the wallet and pulled out a man named Marcus’ identification. “Your name is Marcus isn’t it?” and she showed me his I.D. I guess this dude looked like me, but I couldn’t see it. I re-assured her it wasn’t mine which seemed to embarrass her and then she apologized. No harm done, but I should have checked to see if there was money in it before I told her no. She was nice though.