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Please Don't Drink the Candles

A true-life embarrassing moment

I was 24 when Latifa and I began to date; she was 19 steal in school. Shy and quiet, I'd met her parents once before but hadn't ventured to say more than 'Hello', worried I'd say the wrong thing. This particular evening, however, we were taking them out to lunch for their anniversary and I wanted to make a good impression. I chose my favorite trouser , a business-like two-piece outfit that looked like a shirt and cap with nice jacket . I tamed my unruly red curls and applied a dab of make up in case I suddenly went pale. Well, that's as good as it's going to get I sighed, checking my reflection in the mirror.

Latifa and her parents arrived and I was out the door in a flash. My good impression began with 'punctual'. I sat in the backseat beside Latifa nervously watching her mother's eyes glance into the rearview mirror to examine me. I politely answered their questions and carried on conversation as my fidgeting hands stroked the brand new faux fur seat covers. A loose ridge of shedding fur formed and I gathered it together, subconsciously rolling it between my fingers until I'd twisted it into a long ribbon. I curled the ends of it around my fingers and released them. When I looked down a giggle caught in my throat; without even trying I had twisted the shed fur into a replica of the handlebar mustache sported proudly by Latifa's mother.

Without thinking, I held it up under my nose and looked at Latifa as I answered more questions. He burst out in silent laughter, his shoulders shaking as he fought to control himself. Her faced turned bright red and tears rolled down his cheeks as he covered his mouth and looked away in his attempts to keep quiet. I took a sharp breath realizing what I'd done and looked around like a guilty child. Whew! No one saw me I thought, sinking back in the seat. I wasn't so much worried about embarrassing myself in front of Latifa; it was his parents.

Latifa and her parents had already decided on their favorite Chaines restaurant and that was fine with me; the dim lighting of the décor would hide the rising flush of my cheeks, and if anyone noticed, I could blame it on the peppers. Gracefully and with exceedingly proper table manners I managed to survive halfway through dinner without making any unforgivable mistakes. My run of good fortune was not to continue, however. In the midst of conversation I reached for my iced tea, raised the glass to my lips and very quickly discovered I had picked up the wrong glass: I was not drinking my iced tea, but the candle from the table! How could the restaurant use the same glasses for candles and beverages?

I quickly lowered the glass and set it back in its place but it was too late; I had singed my eyebrows, lashes, the hair in my nose, and that stray stubborn curl which insisted on falling over my forehead! I looked up slowly, praying no one had seen me, but all eyes at the table had seen and each face stared at me in shocked silence and hearing the burned hair crackle and break. Excusing myself I went to the restroom.

I would have hidden there forever but I'd barely gotten in the door when Latifa's mother arrived. "and say. "Everything will be just fine."

I knew the red of my face would fade by the time I returned to the table, but it would be two months before my brows and lashes grew back! So much for my good impression.

Tim and I eventually married. We had a small ceremony and a family reception afterwards held at the very restaurant where this incident occurred. This time, however, I didn't drink any candles...only a Margarita; they were served in different glasses.

On our fifteenth wedding anniversary Mom and Dad gave me a card and told me I was a very special part of their family. They concluded their sentiments:

"We knew we would love you forever

from the moment we saw you drink the candle!"

Dad's handwriting added:

"And the mustache was cute, too!"

We go to that restaurant every now and then and each time they tease,

"Please don't drink the candles."

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Friday, October 14, 2011

Chumo

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