Toast & Teenagers

I've been eating very few carbohydrates but I like how the word "Brioche" looks on the menu and how it sounds coming from the waiter's mouth so I give it a go on my last day in L.A. a couple of trips ago. It's a standard breakfast at the Standard Hotel.

As I'm waiting for this glorified piece of bread, a Sam Worthington/Jeremy Piven knock-off walks in and takes a seat at the bar. He chats with the waiter. They clearly know one another. From the accent, I can tell he's British. He keeps glancing over at my booth. I'm the only other dining in the lounge. He's giving me a vibe. A very kind one. An 'I'm a great guy' one. Normally, I have a book to hide behind when I'm out in public alone but I've left it in my room. I'm feeling shy and exposed. My brain floods towards him:

Don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me!

I'm not attempting to be mean it's just I'm having the huge realization that the last couple of decades have made this type of exchange foreign to me.

My food comes and the waiter makes certain I have everything I need. I say something and Samermy finds it humorous...as does the waiter. I smile and nod towards my plate. I begin eating and immediately realized that I don't care for crusty french toast. The nice guy inquires, "Having the Brioche, eh?"

Looking at the large portion on the plate, to avoid eye-contact, I absently say, "I can't manage this much. There's enough for two." He smiles and swivels to face me. Don't talk to me rapidly recedes into:

Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!

He says, "I love their Brioche!"

Yikes. Using my fork and my best 'ambivalent-but-could-be-construed-as-an-affirmation', I gesture a Yum and take a bite. I've left myself wide open.

"So, where are you from?" I swallow just a little too quickly, almost choke and then say the most ridiculous thing I possibly could. "Um, not here. Another place."

I excuse myself mumbling that I have to catch a plane. This is the truth, btw, give or take 3 or 4 hours. Anyway, I drop enough cash to cover the meal along with a nice tip and leave rather...abruptly. Okay, maybe 'rather' isn't quite the word. Yeah, we can just drop that word all together. Needless to say, I felt completely out of my element and was just seeking some relief.


Fast forward to a few days ago:

I drove my daughters to see the latest chick-flick at the theater. And with the subject of romance* on their minds, they ask me when or if I ever plan to get back 'out' there. I casually mention my boorish Brioche encounter only to get the "what for" thrown at me! It went a little like this:

Daughter 1:
He LOOKED like Sam and you just walked out?!?

Yes...but the Piven part...I don't know.

Daughter 2:
Yeah, I heard Piven's a Diva.

I'm not being fair and don't believe everything you hear.

Daughter 1:
AND he had an English accent?!?

I believe that's what I heard.

Daughter 2:
O.M.G. Mom! Don't you know that a guy with
an English accent is already 50% hot!

That is NOT true.

Daughter 1 & 2:
That IS true.


I'm toast...

*...and I think I'll just stick to writing poetry for now.