L'histoire de Lesley

The restaurant was very good, Eleanor had taken nine oysters which were still wriggling beneath the lemon juice and covered them with a large piece of lettuce. The other diners looked horrified but I felt a huge amount of relief. I have never been keen on seeing my food alive and could feel my stomach churning at the very thought. As a precaution I reached down for my napkin as I was sure that projectile vomiting over the chintz tablecloth would not be the ‘done’ thing.

I was very relieved when a cute little Italian waiter appeared with some bread rolls. Umm, Nice bum I thought, now that’s definitely my sort of wriggling! Eleanor had spotted him too and was winking at me, sadly her fiancé Frederick, had also noticed. His face flushed, his eyebrows quivered and he stared coldly. Blimey ,that’s not good I thought . Looks like there’s a domestic on the way.

In that nano second, I realised a trip to the ladies room was required, immediately, now!

I made my apologies to the feuding pair and wove my way through the restaurant as demurely as I could, in a dress that was a least two sizes too small and shoes that were ridiculous high. The Maître D pointed in the direction of the loo. Two flights upstairs, not good for a woman who had consumed half a bottle of some posh red and clearly left her pelvic floor on the at home. Tiptoeing modestly with ever such a small hint panic I fled up the stairs.

Les toilettes were charming, beige and stripy, nice towels and there were two booths, both taken. As I fidgeted on the spot I became aware of retching and vomiting . Remind me to find out what she’s been eating I thought! I should have called sympathetically offering help but knew that even the teeniest deviation from my mission would end in a very large puddle and some very wet knickers.

At last, the end door opened and I flew past the leaver. Slamming the door and pulling my knickers down simultaneously, I threw myself on the loo.... OMG what a relief. I was just congratulating myself on getting there in time when I realised the door hadn’t shut, worse still the vomiter’s husband had come to her rescue. Red faced I left muttering .......

By the time I returned to the restaurant Eleanor was standing, clutching her bag and saying some very loud, pas polite words to Frederick , who was wearing all nine oysters and looking ready to explode. Everyone was staring , but not at her. Somebody was tugging at my dress. I turned quickly and came face to face with Cute bottom,

“Madam,” he whispered, ” your dress, she is tucked in your knickers.”

Eleanor took that as a cue to leave , we bolted to the door. Outside on the pavement we dissolved into fits of hysterical laughter. Two heads popped out of the alley. It was the Maitre D and Cute Bottom, “Ladies, your night , it is a disaster. Come , join us for cooking like mother used to make and we will make beautiful music.”

This exquisite life would end this evening with ravioli and Mahler.