The wife (Diane) is recovering from feet surgery (she had work done on both) and is off the crutches but still on the meds. She still has to wear a plastic boot on one foot for protection which makes for some good times.
As we were coming out of a restaurant one night I opened the car door for her. She leaned back a bit and started falling and stutter stepping backwards to try and catch her balance. She must have taken a good 5 or 6 steps back before I caught her. The whole time she was yelling "Whoa, catch me! Whoa, whoa, catch me!" Hilarity ensued and we've since nicknamed her "DWHOA".
Thinking the end of the crutch use was the end of comical restaurant mishaps proved to be a mistake. As we headed into Denny's I was thinking for the first time in a while that we would be able to sit in the booth without a crutch flailing through the air sending the waiter and nearby patrons bobbing and weaving in an effort to get through the evening unscathed. Nor would a crutch fall from any of the precarious perches she liked to place them on and fall into someone's soup bowl showering the unsuspecting restaurateur with a lovely chicken broth.
We slid into the booth without incident. Just as the waiter approached, the wife moved her foot and the hard plastic boot got jammed between the table support leg and the bottom of the bench seat. She squirmed and wriggled but couldn't break loose. She continued to twist and turn and move every part of her body in different directions with her anger growing exponentially. Her face turned bright red as she cursed at the table as though it had lured her in and then sprung a trap. It was somewhat reminiscent of a scene in The Exorcist. The waiter looked at me with fear in his eyes but I just raised my eyebrows and shrugged. She finally broke free and we all breathed a huge sigh of relief. The waiter asked what we would like to drink but before we could answer (and I'm not kidding about this) she moved her leg and jammed her boot right back in the same place!!!
Then there's the latest trip to our local Mexican restaurant, Casa Franco. Things went well until the end of the meal. For some unknown reason, the wife decided to help the waiter with the plates and nearly made him drop everything on the floor. He regained control of the plates and silverware as well as his composure and looked at the wife with his head cocked like a curious dog. She began to mutter something completely unintelligible, stuttering along the way. He looked at me and I said "At least you don't have to live with her." He then looked back at her and said "Maybe ju take too much medicine. Sometimes I take too much medicine and I can't talk just like ju." It's always nice being out somewhere looking like we need medical advice from a food server.
While completely unrelated to the surgery, another restaurant story comes to mind that must be told. A while back we went to an Italian restaurant with some friends. I ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and as the food was served the waiter dumped the entire bowl of spaghetti in my lap. Everyone at the table gasped and said "OH!" which drew the attention of every patron in the restaurant. At the same exact moment my wife, with a deadly serious look on her face, grabbed a full glass of ice water and threw it in my lap. Now instead of having the spaghetti sauce confined to my lap it's seeping through my pants and running down my leg. I have to say this is one of the few times in my life that I've been completely dumbfounded. I just sat there staring at her with my mouth open not knowing what to say or do.
It turns out she thought the sauce was scalding hot for some reason and reacted like one of those heroes you read about that grab a fire extinguisher and put out a fire before anyone else realizes that anything is burning. When I told her they don't heat the sauce to molten lava-like temperatures she said....... "oh."