My favorite restaurant was a Chinese buffet, but they changed management recently, and now nothing tastes quite right to me. Faced with choosing where to eat tonight, I suggested The Ground Round since they have delectable ribs.
"So you're ready to put up with that mangy waitress?" Mom asked.
"Oh right." I chuckled, remembering the old waitress we always get stuck with when we go there. "Mangy's a good word for it."
"That's not very nice," Mom pointed out.
"But you're the one who said it first!"
Mom laughed and conceded, "Mangy is a good word."
"She's not that bad," Dad interjected. I rolled my eyes. "We've had worse," he continued.
"Yeah, but she always takes forever to get the food and the check. And she's old," I argued. Old, in and of itself, isn't a problem; she just has this craggy face and long, stringy, lusterless hair always pulled back with a barrette. Unappetizing. Though we could ask to be seated in a different section, it would make no difference because their crazy management has the waitstaff cover tables throughout the restaurant.
My elation was all out of proportion when a young overweight waitress walked up to take our drink orders. Her shirt was tucked in, but just barely; her stomach bulged over her apron. It occurs to me now that she might be pregnant, but at the time it just registered as sloppy because she looked young. I didn't care as long as the service was decent.
She was very good: timely, attentive, friendly. I didn't see the old waitress at all, in fact. Note to self: maybe Mangy has Mondays off.
LOL. So wrong and yet... so entertaining.
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