Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Guess who's coming to dinner?

Eddie the puppet was well dressed in his black top hat and miniature tuxedo with a white button down shirt and bow tie. I thought it was funny that his mother picked out a dummy that resembled her son but I never shared my observation with Bobby. He never did learn how to use the dummy like a proper ventriloquist but Bobby became increasingly attached to the little puppet, carrying Eddie around with him everywhere. And I mean everywhere. When I was invited to dine at a new five-star French restaurant in downtown Los Angeles, Eddie came.
Actually, we brought the whole family along for the ride, Blondie, Eddie, Bobby and I. When we pulled up to the valet, there was a little confusion. I didn't want to scare Blondie, leaving her in the car while a strange man parked it.
“Do you mind if I park my own car and pay you anyway?” I asked the attendant, motioning to Blondie in the backseat.
“You can just pull up to the front and I will watch your dog for you,” he said with a wary smile. When Bobby got out of the car with Eddie, the valet shook his head in disbelief.
As we entered the elegant space, our laughter turned into hysterics over the fact that Eddie was joining us at this fancy eatery. Quiet and romantic, it did not look like the sort of place that would welcome wooden dolls as patrons. With its gigantic coats of arms decorating the walls and marble floors that gleamed in the candlelight, it was elegant beyond compare. 
Much to my surprise, the staff was playful and welcoming. Luckily, the restaurant was so new that it was relatively empty. French waiters greeted all three of us and welcomed Eddie as if he were our son, not just a dummy. They actually brought a booster seat and set a place for Eddie. When they poured the doll a glass of champagne, I almost lost it, laughing so hard champagne came out of my nose. Bobby finished Eddie’s champagne after pretending to have Eddie sip some. He gave Eddie pretend bites of his dinner throughout the evening too. It was like dining with a mad three-year old.

No comments:

Post a Comment