It’s not often, but occasionally Queenie will join the elves in the cocoa-sipping room for their afternoon break. At these times the old gal will recall something from her past days of yore.
Today was one of those recollection days.
As she settled into her overly cushy throne, she told of attending a débutante presentation dinner decades ago. The debs were all in voluptuous white ball gowns looking like porcelain dolls engulfed in delicious meringue. The men’s club members were so elegant in white ties and tails. Each of the young gentlemen had a “junior” or a number following his name on his place card. These guests were the cream of Dallas society. Why, someone claimed that one portly chap was the descendant of a man who helped John Neely Bryan build his cabin.
All the waiting staff seemed to be tall with perfect posture as each course was served with the precision of the Kilgore Rangerettes.
It was during the serving of one of the courses that Queenie remembered like a kitten who had just snagged her first bird. After the entrée had been removed, beautiful bowls with lemon slices floating in clear liquid were perfectly placed before each guest. Portly Chap picked up the remaining spoon at his place, dipped it into his bowl and proceeded to slurp it up. All but Queenie followed suit. When her table companion asked her why she wasn’t interested in her “soup,” she smiled holding back a wave of giggles and said she was simply too full.
Another guest consoled her saying, “Don’t worry. It’s pretty bland.” Over the shoulder of Portly Chap, the senior server grimaced.
As Senior Server and the other staff member removed the now partially empty bowls, they quickly placed dessert in front of the guests and poured coffee. Portly Chap made a pouty face. He called over Senior Server.
“We don’t have spoons for our coffee!” Portly said, obviously not please.
Without missing a beat, Senior Server apologized and provided spoons.