We had been seated in a bustling room full of happy diners, but slowly the room emptied out until, by the end of our meal, there were just us, and a small table of two gentleman across the room. By happenstance, postgoodism had risen from the table to attend to his kidneys. The gap in our circle was roughly opposite me, and the other table was straight through the gap. One of the two gentlemen also leaves the table, leaving his companion alone in the room... apart from us.
Planning a treat for her dogs, karteblanche asks the server, "I'd like a box for my bone." Then I think Dr. Pookie says something along the lines of, "Now that sounds like a euphemism for something." Mr. All by Himself busts a gut lolling -- as were we all -- but his participation just exponentiated the amusement. He was a bit embarrassed, but it was a great moment of stranger camaraderie. The McInnis took adolescent glee in ringing the changes on the phrase for the remainder of the evening, which is why we love him so.