I knew the family thought one thing. ‘No thanks.’
I didn’t need the collective sigh of relief or my husband saying, ‘Last time she had ice, it broke a tooth.’
I didn’t need the waitress’s pitying look.
We have this rigmarole at every pub the family visits.
Next month we have six meals out. Can we find six different places to go?
Not recognizing the waiting staff each and every time would be good too.
Those pitying looks are getting worse, I swear.