Mortified

So last night we went to the movies.  And afterwards we decided to grab a bite at the diner.

(Long Island is blessed with a plethora of diners.  New Jersey may be the diner capital of the world, but we place a close second.)

So we got to the diner and we’re seated in a booth that had an actual juke box.  Nice selection of music, from Frank Sinatra to Billy Joel to Blackeyed Peas.  And the Yankee game was on the TV.    And the paper placemats had pictures of all the cocktails the bartender could make.  

Drew ordered one of his favorites, eggs Benedict, and a cup of coffee.  I ordered a burger and fries.  And a Diet Coke, of course.

And we ate, and chatted, and drank.

And the waiter asked if I wanted a refill.  

And I said yes.  

And he brought my refill.

And I said “thank you.”

And he put the glass on the table.

And I picked up the glass, to bring it closer so I wouldn’t spill it.

And the glass slipped out of my hand ...

An entire glass of Diet Coke spilled onto the table and the bench.

And my face turned as red as the ketchup on my fries.

I left a very generous tip.