Surprise

oratory

At the next table, we hear a shriek, and see the waitstaff in half-moon formation, serenading a young lady with ASCAP's most valued property, "Happy Birthday (to You)."

My OWN young lady looks at me intently and whispers, neither her lips nor her teeth moving from place, 'Don't you ever do that to me,' and meant it.

And for the first time all night I relax, because I do not like that sort of attention, either. I don't begrudge the couple at the table, though, the boyfriend smugly proud of the affectionate embarrassment, the girlfriend's pseudo-glare of smiling admonishment. This was, in fact, the only affection we knew growing up. We weren't a family, or should I say, we weren't a family of hugs and kisses. We tried, once, the both of us urged and impelled towards the living room, 'It'll make him feel nice, just do it,' she said, and we did, and he grimaced, tried to force a smile and said simply, 'No.' And meant it.

Instead, there were midnight frights, jumping out from a darkened hallway, dutch ovens and similar gastrointestinal delights, and insults. Not for us, mind you, but between her and him, the adult equivalent of yanking on pigtails. It was...charming in its own way. I suppose. Much.

And so I reach across the table, take her hand and try to mimic her speaking without moving, 'YOU TOO.'