Valentine's Dinner Continued - A Lesson In British Etiquette - Part 2

14 February 2012

Story #502

R. Linda:

SO as you can well imagine, I introduced everyone even if they knew each other because honestly, I was a nervous wreck with the way Patrick's body language was insinuating he'd like to punch me lights out. And as for Ms. Jaio, she was looking at me like she'd like to rip every hair out of me head, and Maureen at the other table was grinning at me totally enjoying herself, so to wipe that malicious grin off her face, I introduced her. Yup, that did the trick, she was somewhat stunned, the last thing she wanted was to be included with us. Think of it this way, it made her look like she was sitting at the kiddie table. 

I leaned toward Tonya and whispered, "How's it seem thus far?"

"Whilst being overwhelmed by the experience, I think we may all survive it," she said with a sigh, fussing with her heart necklace, which I had given her that morning before I left for work.

Just then, the waitress arrived for our drink order, and Amanda was squirming like she was ready to wet her knickers. It was like one of Weasil's "ooh ooh" moments, where he raises his hand like he's in school, desperate to answer a question because he knows the answer.

"Uh, do you have Chapel Down?" Then, to the waitress's blank look, "English wine?" Amanda asked.

"No, sorry."

"Do you have any English wine?" Mrs. Weasil attempted another. "I'm desperate for English wine. Well, here then, have you any Nyetimber?" She turned to Ms. Jaio, who was seated next to her, and continued, "It is really good as well for top-quality fizz."

Jaio blinked, "U grow grapes in Inglin?"

"I suppose someone does," Amanda said demurely.

"No, sorry, we don't carry any English wines," the waitress said, sounding like Amanda had two heads.

Tonya saved us from a continuing question-and-answer session by a clueless Amanda by suggesting we order a couple bottles of Kendall Jackson, so that was done.

"U Scottish?" Ms. Jaio asked Weasil, leaning forward to see him beyond the squirmy Amanda, and he nodded. "U seem leak Inglaise. U not want Scotch?"

"Welly, Ima not worried about the general character of being British. We are an ok lot, aren't we, Manda? All jumbled into one biggy funny talkin' fomily. Scottish an other wisie."

"Oh yes, we are basically a nice bunch, a little clumsy, but polite and all that. A well-meaning person, are you Korean?" Amanda asked the riveted and wide-eyed Ms. Jaio.

"No, Chinese."

"Where we going with this?" Patrick asked, irritated.

"YOU must be Irish, I'd know that accent anywhere," Amanda giggled at his good-looking but angry self.

Patrick's mouth was clamped shut; he was not having a good time. He looked at Amanda like he saw nothing funny about being Irish. And Clueless, as we have come to call Amanda, was muttering things about thatched-covered cottages, pots of gold, leprechauns, and that silly nonsense associated with the Irish, all THAT was really getting on Patrick's nerves. And here ( was, knowing Amanda was an American affecting an English accent, for what purpose? To fit in? Meanwhile, the Weasil was sizing Patrick up, and I could see he didn't like the way Patrick was NOT talking to his wife. Uh oh. Looking at Patrick, Weasil addressed Ms. Jaio, "Itz da fringe loonies ya have ta worry 'bout."

We were all thinking the same thing about the Weasils, not the Northern Irish rock and bottle-throwing hordes that Weasil was referring to.

Patrick was fuming. He half rose at that, but Tonya grabbed his arm and made him sit like a good boy. I know what he was thinking being an Irish Catholic boy, that English people and Irish don't mix something I hadn't given a thought to quite obviously, as I consider the Weasil be a Scot, but he was raised in London, so . . . And Weasil was talking Weasilese with an English accent, which threw Patrick off. Tonya had had her head in the menu, smiling to herself and shaking her head, but nothing like Maureen, who was laughing outright and looking at the menu at her table. I could see Maureen was getting a rise out of Patrick, so me quick-thinking wife had acted by trying to engage him in conversation, I say trying because he'd listen but he wasn't talking to her. And we know that sort of thing doesn't always go the way one would hope.

The wine arrived before anything else could be said, along with the dinner rolls, which were passed around. Napkins were shaken out and placed, but not before Terry Sullivan arrived for his Valentine's Day dinner with Maureen. Now, an aside here, Terry is a first-generation Irish boyo from the south side of Boston. He's not very tall, and he's got red hair and crystal blue eyes, and as Tonya so well describes him, he looks like a rough-and-tumble leprechaun, he does. But, he's smart, and his small stature aside, he's one scrappy Irishman if ever there was one. Now Terry knew of Patrick, but Patrick had no clue of Terry (his successor for the affections of Ms. Maureen). They sized each other up quickly, that is, once Maureen whispered to Terry about Patrick being at the next table. The last thing I wanted was a brawl in the middle of a nice restaurant, on Valentine's Day, with a bunch of people there for a pseudo-romantic dinner, as it was turning out. Oh, what to do?

Maureen acknowledged our table, and Terry nodded at us. We did the same back, except for Patrick. Maureen mentioned to Terry that Patrick had a cold and not to mind his bad mood. At which Terry, as he unrolled his napkin, said to her loud enough for us to hear, "The golden rule is that a napkin should never be used to blow your nose in. That is a definitive no-no. AND, ya should never tuck it inta yer clothing because that is considered COMMON."

Patrick's eyes were glistening fire (his napkin was tucked into his belt), and Ms. Jaio found that amusing. Yes, she did. She was smoothing her napkin out on her knees, and her shoulders jumped (which caught me attention). I could see she was trying to contain her laughter.

As the rolls and butter were passed round, in his theatrical whisper, Terry said (as Patrick picked up his knife to butter his roll), "Never lick or put yer knife in yer mouth." As Patrick stopped what he was doing to look at him, knife in hand, Terry said in an off-handed way to Patrick, "I have to tell me brothers' kids that all the time." Right, he does. Good save, but Patrick knew better.

Then as Patrick took a bite of his roll, the maddening upstart was buttering his roll (which his table had by then) and looking at it he said to no one in particular, "It is impolite to start eating before everyone has been served unless yer host says that ya needn't wait . . ." and as Patrick opened his mouth to rebut, the Weasil said, "I tell dissy to me eldest all da timey." And a big sigh followed with a what can ya do? Kids! Attitude. Right.

Patrick's eyes were slits in his head as he chewed slowly looking at the Weasil and then at Terry. We all took bites of our rolls, but not the Weasil. He said instead, "AND I tell 'em never chew wit der mouf open."

As you can imagine, this did not score brownie points with Patrick. He sat there staring at Weasil, not chewing at all. But Weasil, oblivious and staring at his roll, continued, "I tell me youngest dat too, an' I say, young lad, no one wants ta see food being chewed or hear it being chewed." This was said with a bright, innocent smile that finally settled on Terry, not Patrick.

Terry sneered at Weasil, took a bite of the roll, and chewed it like gum, his mouth open.

As we waited for the appetisers, Patrick was obviously not feeling the love. He put his elbows on the table with his face in his hands for a second, just long enough for Maureen to say softly to Terry, but loud enough for all of us to hear, especially Patrick, "Terrance, isn't it wonderful how your little cousin Connor never puts his elbows on the table? He's so polite and wot be he? Tree?"

I was wondering how long it would take before Patrick lost it. I could see him in me mind's eye, flipping the table on all of us, pushing Jaio to the ground and taking aim with a chair at Terry's head. Oi! But that didn't happen. For something to do, he reached in front of Tonya (whom he wasn't speaking to) and took the last dinner roll. Of course, Terry was ready with, "And only this very morning I told Connor never reach over someone's plate but to ask for the food ta be passed like a proper gent."

Yes, it got tense at that very moment. I thought Patrick was going to lob the dinner roll at Terry's grinning face, but Ms. Jaio cleared her throat like 'donchadare' and he came back to reality. I truly was about to signal the waitress to get us another table far away from the two instigators.

I could see this was getting to Patrick. I knew he was about to come to blows with Terry and probably Maureen. With a tinge of anger, he said to the masterful Weas, "And did ye tell yer laddie boy not to talk over another? And did ye also tell 'em it be impolite to jam his mouth full of food and never to use his wee fingers to shove it down his cakehole? And, did ye tell 'em not to push food onto his spoon or folk with his wee fingers as well, but to use his knife? Well, did ya?"

And the calm Weasil said, "I did. And, I tole 'em it was impolite to slurp 'is food."

Soup had been served at the other table, and two dirty looks went in Weasil's direction.

"And ye did tell 'em da part on blowing his nose in a serviette? Did ye tell 'em napkins are fer dabbing at the lips and only for THAT?" Patrick demanded as Terry wiped a bit of spilt soup off the tablecloth next to his tie.

Trying to ignore Patrick, Terry took the crackers that Maureen didn't want from her plate.

"Why I believeies I did." Weasil grinned, then holding up a finger as if he had a brainstorm, he said, "And I tole 'em to never take food from his neighbour's platie and never ta pick food outa 'is teeth with his fingernails!"

'Didja now?" Patrick said with a smile.

"I did," Weasil said, reaching over to Maureen's table and snatching a roll. "Sorry, we iz out."

That was the first smile or really sneer I'd seen cross Patrick's face as Maureen sat there speechless, and Terry was sizing up Weasil. But there is something about Weasil—you don't want to cross the lad. He exudes this menace, and that sharp, quick tongue—well, you know you don't want it cutting you to ribbons.

"Well, that's just fantastic," I said, "Now that we have dinner manners down, can we just eat?"

The appetiser plates were being put before us, and Weasil, to get in that last word, said, "Why notty?" and he smiled magnanimously. We all sat there very soberly cutting our food, not a word uttered, only the occasional clearing of the throat or a cough into a hand, or a sip of wine.

I did wonder why Terry didn't pick up on Weasil's mispronunciation of the Queen's English instead of batting a subject of British manners back and forth. How juvenile was all this? I realised that Weasil had it in for Terry because he didn't like him. I felt sorry I had subjected Patrick to this, and I had to wonder what the heck I was thinking when I whipped this dinner thing together.

When the plates were being removed and the main course was on its way, Patrick sat back, focused on Ms. Jaio.

"SO," he said, his hands folded over his stomach, leaning back in his chair and looking down at her. "Your first name is CHARLOTTE. It's kind of unique for someone from China."

Ms. Jaio gulped and took a sip of wine, not saying anything, but looking pleadingly at me for help.

"Uh . . . yes, that's me pet name for her. I can't pronounce her first name, so Charlotte it be." In truth, I can't remember Jaio's first name. She's so Ms. Jaio. I can't call her by anything else, but now she is Charlotte, whether she or I like it.

Ms. Jaio looked at me over her glasses, and I knew she wanted to say to me, "U nutz."

Amanda, clueless as ever, was looking around. Before anything else could be said, she quibbled with this insulting ditty: "I should wonder we aren't celebrating St. Patrick's Day!" To everyone's HUH, she responded, "Well, think about it: Here we are with FOUR Irish persons. It's quite the Irish clover crowd!"

"Wow," Patrick said, stunned, as me wife disappeared under the table, choking with laughter. Ms. Jaio's face was completely obscured by her napkin, and her shoulders shook with mirth. The kiddie table was not laughing, and I had me mouth open to catch flies, I think, as the remark settled into me offended brain.

Amanda, smiling, shrugged as she looked at her husband and said, "Wot? Why is everyone . . . "

Exactly. Why was everyone reacting? Duh, was it something you said there, Amanda? Oi.

A quick-thinking Tonya popped up from under the table like she had found her dropped napkin (that she hadn't really dropped), and with herself composed, asked Amanda what Weasil gave her for Valentine's Day (this to get off the Irish subject).

"OH!" She smiled big. "My WONDERFUL husband got me a picture of himself! All framed and everything!" She clapped her hands together in joy and then leaned over and gave the grinning Weasil a big kiss and an "I love this man!" so the whole establishment would hear her. She pointed at him and looked around to make sure everyone had noticed. Everyone had. Oh, my God, what is she like?

Me wife was so overcome she had to get up and run to the ladies' room, Ms. Jaio was on her heels. I noticed Maureen was staring with big, incredulous eyes at Terry, trying hard to keep a straight face, but she couldn't, so she burst into laughter. She, too, went after the other two ladies. And there sat Amanda, smiling broadly, an arm around the man of her life, eyes glistening with tears of joy that he was all hers. The three Irishmen were exchanging unspoken dialogue with our eyes, which translated was this: FOR SURE AND BEGORRAH I BE THANKFUL TO JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH I'M NOT WITH HER!

After some clearing of the throat and heaving of big sighs, we all shook our heads in agreement with Amanda. Yes, indeed, she was a very lucky woman. Yes, we all said it, even Terry at the kiddie table. And Weasil, what was his reaction aside from grinning like an idiot? He was proud of himself. Yup, he was. To have such an adoring, brain-deprived wife was just great with him. Oh yeah.

And just when we thought it was over and done, and as the ladies were all returning to the table, Amanda pipes up with, "I want him to autograph it for me." All three turned on their heels and were gone, hands covering mouths, shoulders shaking, and there we were, and the Weasil fighting for composure. Terry lost it; he feigned coughing into his napkin and turned away from any view of Amanda. Patrick was visibly choking and trying to make like he had a fit of coughing. I was next to Weasil, so I pushed me chair back from her view because I knew I'd lose it to look at her just once. Weasil took it in his rock star stride like this happens to him all the time, and I bet it does when he's home.

"Trying this again," Tonya said, returning for the second time. By then, we were all pretty composed, and I had started talking shop, and that sort of did it. Ms. Jaio had returned with Tonya, but Maureen came soon after with a quick glance at Patrick, which seemed to throw him. It did me, too. I was like, uh oh.

Meanwhile, Amanda was leaning her head against Weasil's shoulder in a show of love for the dear demented husband she had hooked, and this brought a chuckle to Maureen as she sat down. It was just enough of a chuckle to get to Ms. Jaio, Patrick, and soon Tonya and ME! It was terrible and infectious, and we couldn't stop laughing. And to make it worse, Amanda joined in, clueless; she had no clue! Weasil was aware of what the fun was about and opted to sit there like he didn't know what was so damn funny. I thought we would all get tossed, but somehow the wait staff ignored us. None complained, though they all looked at our table. Thank God we weren't asked to leave; that would have topped the night.

But it wasn't over just yet. It got really sketchy after that.

Gabe
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