wide-mouthed yawn. The floor gave off a low vibration.
“Ahoy!” Robert called out. “We’re on our way out to sea.”
So it wasn’t my imagination; we were moving. The movement was a strangely subtle sensation. I had pictured our departure from the harbor to be something from the movies, complete with streamers and confetti and people on the shore waving to us as we glided out to sea.
Instead, we were seated in a fancy dining room listening to Natalia, our waitress, as she ran through the details of the feast we were about to enjoy. She was darling and sparkly and spoke with a heavy accent.
When she stepped away from the table with the order for our appetizers, Joanne said, “Now I can see why Sandy gained ten pounds on her cruise! They make all the food sound so good you want to try everything.”
“I made sure I tried every dessert offered on our last cruise,” Robert said.
“I have a solution for the weight gain,” Marti interjected.“Don’t take the elevators the entire cruise. Always take the stairs.”
Just then a young man dressed as a pirate came over to our table with a stuffed parrot. A photographer joined him, and before we could pose, the pirate positioned himself between Joanne and me and placed his parrot puppet on my shoulder.
“Arrrgh, maties!” the pirate growled as the camera flashed. “Ye can pick up your photos at the lower level of the lobby after dinner. Arrrgh.”
We laughed as the pirate made his way around the table, and our appetizers were delivered with a flourish. My daring sister had ordered escargot, which was served in rounded pewter dishes with small, sunken pockets for each of the garlic- and butter-saturated curlycues.
“You’re going to share this with me aren’t you?” Joanne asked.
Robert also ordered the escargot, and he dove in with great verbal admiration for the tenderness and quality of the delicacy.
I was having a hard time moving past the thought that these people were putting snails in their mouths, biting into them, and swallowing. Joanne forked one of the tidbits and gave me a sly eyebrows-up glance before putting the bite in her mouth. I watched her carefully.
“Superb,” she said with calm sophistication.
Superb! Ha!
I doubted she had ever tried escargot before or had anything to compare it with. I also didn’t particularly enjoy watching her enter into a new experience before me.
Not to be outclassed, I reached for a small fork, knowing that if I didn’t take the challenge, this crazy power balance between us would forever be tipped in Joanne’s favor. I had to eat the snail. I mean, escargot.
Drawing the fork to my mouth, I placed the rubbery morsel on top of my molars instead of on my tongue to avoid contact with my taste buds. With two quick, sufficient chews I swallowed. The garlic taste overpowered my senses. With a polite nod to the observing dinner guests, I borrowed Joanne’s word. “Superb.”
Joanne laughed at me. It was a soft, tender, sisterly laugh and not meant to embarrass or demean.
Two minutes later I excused myself from the table. Trying to walk slowly and appear calm, I made my way to the little girl’s room. Apparently snails don’t enjoy being the only visitor in a stomach that, aside from some pulverized airline peanuts, a smuggled chocolate truffle, and antihive medication, had been vacant since breakfast.
I took the long way back to our table, making sure my stomach was settled. The salad I’d ordered was waiting for me. Poached pear with caramelized walnuts. Thankfully Joanne didn’t begin a medical interrogation. She was in the middle of a conversation with Robert, and as I listened in, I ascertained he was in real estate and knew a few things about land ownership in Mexico.
“The bank in Mexico still holds the trust for our property,” Joanne said.
That’s when I knew that in my absence she had disclosed to our dinner guests that we were owners of beachfront property in Mexico. I wondered how her
“Ahoy!” Robert called out. “We’re on our way out to sea.”
So it wasn’t my imagination; we were moving. The movement was a strangely subtle sensation. I had pictured our departure from the harbor to be something from the movies, complete with streamers and confetti and people on the shore waving to us as we glided out to sea.
Instead, we were seated in a fancy dining room listening to Natalia, our waitress, as she ran through the details of the feast we were about to enjoy. She was darling and sparkly and spoke with a heavy accent.
When she stepped away from the table with the order for our appetizers, Joanne said, “Now I can see why Sandy gained ten pounds on her cruise! They make all the food sound so good you want to try everything.”
“I made sure I tried every dessert offered on our last cruise,” Robert said.
“I have a solution for the weight gain,” Marti interjected.“Don’t take the elevators the entire cruise. Always take the stairs.”
Just then a young man dressed as a pirate came over to our table with a stuffed parrot. A photographer joined him, and before we could pose, the pirate positioned himself between Joanne and me and placed his parrot puppet on my shoulder.
“Arrrgh, maties!” the pirate growled as the camera flashed. “Ye can pick up your photos at the lower level of the lobby after dinner. Arrrgh.”
We laughed as the pirate made his way around the table, and our appetizers were delivered with a flourish. My daring sister had ordered escargot, which was served in rounded pewter dishes with small, sunken pockets for each of the garlic- and butter-saturated curlycues.
“You’re going to share this with me aren’t you?” Joanne asked.
Robert also ordered the escargot, and he dove in with great verbal admiration for the tenderness and quality of the delicacy.
I was having a hard time moving past the thought that these people were putting snails in their mouths, biting into them, and swallowing. Joanne forked one of the tidbits and gave me a sly eyebrows-up glance before putting the bite in her mouth. I watched her carefully.
“Superb,” she said with calm sophistication.
Superb! Ha!
I doubted she had ever tried escargot before or had anything to compare it with. I also didn’t particularly enjoy watching her enter into a new experience before me.
Not to be outclassed, I reached for a small fork, knowing that if I didn’t take the challenge, this crazy power balance between us would forever be tipped in Joanne’s favor. I had to eat the snail. I mean, escargot.
Drawing the fork to my mouth, I placed the rubbery morsel on top of my molars instead of on my tongue to avoid contact with my taste buds. With two quick, sufficient chews I swallowed. The garlic taste overpowered my senses. With a polite nod to the observing dinner guests, I borrowed Joanne’s word. “Superb.”
Joanne laughed at me. It was a soft, tender, sisterly laugh and not meant to embarrass or demean.
Two minutes later I excused myself from the table. Trying to walk slowly and appear calm, I made my way to the little girl’s room. Apparently snails don’t enjoy being the only visitor in a stomach that, aside from some pulverized airline peanuts, a smuggled chocolate truffle, and antihive medication, had been vacant since breakfast.
I took the long way back to our table, making sure my stomach was settled. The salad I’d ordered was waiting for me. Poached pear with caramelized walnuts. Thankfully Joanne didn’t begin a medical interrogation. She was in the middle of a conversation with Robert, and as I listened in, I ascertained he was in real estate and knew a few things about land ownership in Mexico.
“The bank in Mexico still holds the trust for our property,” Joanne said.
That’s when I knew that in my absence she had disclosed to our dinner guests that we were owners of beachfront property in Mexico. I wondered how her
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