eakfast at iffany's

[Mike Handley]

“No ’oblem,” said the twentysomething waitress, scooping up the plate of waffles smothered in rancid blueberries. She returned moments later, big sounds escaping her curiously almost-closed mouth: “Uh anager says e’ll ake em off uh ill.”

“What?” I asked.

“Thank you very much,” my wife smiled, seemingly oblivious to the girl’s impediment, while I fought wild urges to ask Waitress Boo Boo if her tongue was newly pierced or if she’d had a root canal that morning.

I tried not to stare, but the gravitational pull — like trying to pretend someone doesn’t have a dime-sized mole on their forehead — was too great.

This formidable girl, a linebacker underneath a taut and stained blue apron, had a tiny baby-doll mouth, or one better suited for a bad caricature of an anemic English woman (or French man) beneath a powdered wig.

[Jamie Hogan]

What an amazing description of the mouth in the final six. Like T, I won't forget that soon, either. I'm with you in fighting the urge to ask a "what's wrong with your mouth?" type of question. "Waitress Boo Boo". Man, you kill me.

[Teresa]

Ha-ha...  Adventures for sure.  I won't be able to forget her mouth. 

[Michael Brown]

Maybe she was rehearsing for her gig as a ventriloquist on the weekend, or maybe the smell of the blueberries was getting to her on the way to the table. When I heard that kind of speech from the landlord's wife on the phone one time and laughed, then was told the woman had only half her tongue left, I suffered guilt for months. Thanks for the memory. Had I been there with you all, however, I guess I would be laughing now.

I like the way you tell a story.

[Brad Rose]

This 6S receives the much -coveted Brad Rose Seal of Approval. A 6.oh on the Richter scale.

[Joe Gensle]

This prompted a PTSD episode for me, Mike. On a certain Monday morning, I got to the office and everyone laughed and cheered me on with their coffee mugs as I got called into the boss' office. It seems the Sunday paper carried a huge ad for one of my accounts, and I had input the text. There wasn't a single "w" in the ad. "What" appeared as "hat," "where" was "here," and on. And on. And on. Suffice to say, I had to run a freebie for the outraged advertiser. And I didn't do it, intentionally or otherwise. No one believed me, which was dumb:  why would I sacrifice commission? Jeopardize an account? hat the ell ere they thinking?? I'll bet one of my colleagues still has that ad in his/her 'bloop' book. Thanks for the memory. 

[Bob Clay]

Just luv sentence 5 ... gravitational pull .... haven't we all been there ? ☺

[Toby Tucker Hecht]

I would have started talking in her dialect.  See if she understood me.

[Crosby Kenyon]

Very entertaining.  Makes me wonder if they'll go back to that eatery and ask for that waitress.

[Mike Handley]

I feel compelled to add here that, if I thought the dear girl suffered from a real impediment (like a cleft palate), I would not be making light of her strange noises. She was keeping her mouth closed, CLOSED, almost as if she'd eaten supper at a Vietnamese restaurant and wanted to spare her customers the aftereffects. And I couldn't ask, of course. And when a curious mind like mine is deprived of answers, it comes up with sixes that make readers raise an eyebrow and call me by my full name.

[Gita]

I would have found the situation more amusing at the time except that the rancid blueberries were my order. Now, however, in the hands of my clever dining partner, the episode is hilarious.