I have an issue with bugs. Not only do I hate them, I also hate killing them - that squashing sound is enough to make me hurl - so I end up in a showdown that has no good ending for me. Unless, of course, I'm armed with a supersized can of Raid.
I was without said bug spray last night, as my friend Lynne and I enjoyed a glass of wine at Vinotecca, in Royal Oak, sitting at a sweet table on the patio, where we could gab and watch the world go by.
Everything was going swimmingly, until the very end of our outing, when the waiter stopped at our table with the receipt. Lynne looked up at him and spotted a katydid - all five inches of it - and remarked, "That's a very large bug on you." This statement set off my state-of-the-art Bug Guard System, which resulted in me lifting my cloth napkin to my face, the power of cotton obviously able to ward off mammoth insects. That's when the girl at the table next to us screeched, "Now it's on your napkin!" That's when my feet took over.
I somehow managed to throw the napkin and kick the table at the same time, sending the table - and everything on it - flying. Two of Lynne's glasses hit the cement, shattering. Luckily, everything else stopped moving when the table did, remaining intact. The waiter just looked at me, awestruck with my performance. Lynne noted, between bouts of out-of-control laughing, that it was probably time for us to go. I announced that we would be back when everyone had forgotten our faces, and we were off, laughing and tearing up all the way to our cars. There's something to be said for eating indoors.
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