I realized, when Ted and I were buying some books from a taciturn man behind a counter, that the two of us might be too chatty for New York.
A waitress will ask how things are, expecting a “Fine thanks.” or a “Can we get more water and another fork?”, but instead she gets something more like this:
“Oh, it’s fantastic. This French toast is delicious.”
“How long has this place been open? This location is great.”
“Can I have a little more coffee. But only a little because if I drink too much I’ll be jittery and I can only have anxiety or coffee. . . one or the other.”
“I really like this.”
“I really like these cups. I really like your haircut.”
So today, at a festival in the park, we made a friend who was almost as chatty as we are. He was working at a non-profit’s booth, and I can’t remember who started it, but the boys talked about baseball and basketball, then we all talked about college and barbeque and when was the last time we ate a hushpuppy. I really liked his glasses. He and Ted exchanged cards, and somehow, I think we might actually hear from him.
We were only steps away when Ted said, “Maybe we should set him up with Sam!”
“That’s what I was thinking!”
“No, my Sam.”
“No, my Sam. Your Sam is a vegan, and this guy doesn’t want to date him just like my Sam doesn’t want to. No one can be happy without cheese and butter.”