We went to our favorite watering hole to grab a bite of dinner this evening. Walked in the door and found pink and red balloons tied to chairs and a big basket of flowers at the reservation counter. Not the usual watering-hole decor. Yes. Valentine’s Day. But, we weren’t celebrating over dinner — just having a meal in our neighborhood pub. I breezed up to the staff and asked for a table for two.

“Do you have reservations?”

Reservations? This is a pub in the burbs. Pretty decent food. But…. No. Nada. No reservations.

We needed to wait while staff conferred.

Another couple came in. No reservations. Waiting.

A third couple came in. No reservations. Waiting.

As we lined the entry — like so many wallflowers — waiting for the conferring to finish, in walks a lanky 16-year-old who will eventually grow into his hands and feet. He strides up to the counter with his young valentine in tow and clears his throat. “I have a reservation.”

The hostess cracks a big smile. “Your name?”

The grown-up wallflowers — we all look like Bambi caught in the headlights. The sweetie and I disappeared into the night to find another spot to dine — praying it wasn’t going to be anything with an arch or staff in headphones.

That’s why I are not smarter than an eleventh grader. Ouch!

Hey. Hey. Hey.

Elen

p.s. Elen hopes it was a special evening for he and she who had reservations!