I don’t know if it is a universal Mars – Venus thing, or what.
When we go to a restaurant, and the hostess gets us to a table, I move to pull her chair out.
Then there’s that hesitation. We all stand frozen for a moment in time as she scans the room.
“I’d prefer that table over there,” she says, “the light here isn’t right.”
Very occasionally, it will take two or three moves before we’re at The Right Table.
One Friday night, I decided to have some fun with this table thing. I called ahead to Andre, the owner at her favorite restaurant, and hatched a plan with him.
When we arrived at the restaurant that night, I whispered to her, “Honey, they’ve got a private room with a special table for us tonight.”
Andre ushered us into the private dining room and closed the door. “So this is really The Right Table,” I told her.