“…well, what do you mean? Are you asking what was going on before my entire life began to fall apart?”

Ah, yes, the first utterance from the adjacent booth to pique our interest.

And a little later, “…beer, they serve beer – that’s all that matters…”

Huh?

“I mean, they had a huge patio – and they had PBR on tap!“

Okay.

More snippets of the conversation floated over the top of the booth and into range.

“…yeah, we’ve got another meeting with the lawyers next week. I’m tryin’ to take the high road, I mean I really am, but she’s bein’ really tough – wants everything.”

We exchange quick glances and crack the slightest smile.  OK, well, this could be interesting…

“I’ve given her everything she’s asked for!  When we were doing the financial stuff, I mean she’s got a master’s and a couple of bachelor’s, so she’s making as much as I am! Sure, I have a master’s too, but we’re basically making the same money – I had to point that out too – so maybe I won’t have to pay alimony, or child support, or anything!”

Wow, who knew?!

“Yeah, there was this new microwave sitting there on the counter – still in the box – she wanted that too! I’ll bet we’ve spent $500 in stupid motions on a $100 microwave!” Pause. “I know, it’s weird, huh?”

Now we’re struggling to stifle audible giggles, and having a hard time doing so.

“It’s ridiculous, I mean I’ve given her everything she wants. …seems all I do is write checks. Sometimes one of our boys is at the house, runnin’ around with his phone and she’ll see something in one of his pictures and say ‘Hey, what’s that?’, so I’ve got to be careful, really, really careful.”

All attempts to resist bursting out laughing have failed.  Completely.  Miserably.  Spectacularly. We clutch napkins to our faces and hope nobody stands up to go to the bathroom.  God help us if our server passes by right now.

“I mean, every time I turn around I’m writing another $10,000 check!” Pause.

“Yeah, there’s this basket – I mean it’s a really nice – a really big – basket.  She wants that too, but she’s not gettin’ it. Ever. She keeps asking – I mean her lawyers keep asking – for me to hand it over, but that’s not gonna happen.”

“What basket? Do you mean this basket? …and I’ll get something out of the garage.”

‘No, no, not that basket. You know which one it is! I’m taking about the basket!’

“Oh, right! …and I’ll go get another basket from somewhere else in the house.”

“Did you mean this one, the red basket?”

‘No, no, I mean the brown basket – the basket that’s made out of vines! Oh! You!’

“Well, uh, OK, I’ll keep looking for it…” Pause. “…she’ll never get it.” Chortle.

That’s it – game over – we’re now both on the verge of convulsions, hoping – praying really – nobody comes by our booth.

“I mean this is a big basket. It’s like a $1,000 basket! It was in this couple’s $3.2M house! We bought it from them since they were moving… It’s a really nice basket too!” Pause. “I swear, I’ll bet we’ve spent $5,000 in motions – motions, motions, stupid motions – on this thing! …on a $1,000 basket. Crazy!”

Tears are streaming down our faces, as we both sit there in absolute hysterics, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum.  Epic fail on that count.

“Nah, I’ve got it over at a neighbor’s house. She’s never gonna find it. I mean it’s huge! I’m talking ‘baby Moses on the Nile’ here!” Pause. “I’ll bet it would float.” Pause. “Hey honey, how ’bout the kids, huh? Who’s paying for school? Nope, it’s all about the basket…”

“I thought about puttin’ it out in the front yard and filling it with plants. Now that would drive her crazy! Yeah, maybe I’ll stick Hamilton in it and take a picture. ‘Have you seen your child lately?’ Hah!” Pause. “…of course there are other things I could put in it, but hey, like I said, I’m takin’ the high road!”

At this point, a woman walks up to the adjacent booth with a tow-headed nine year-old girl trailing right behind her.  Thank goodness – a reprieve – we’re able to gather ourselves, wipe away the tears, and generally straighten up – sorta…

“Hi! Mike! How are you? Yes! It’s Susan. You remember Stacie, don’t you? She’s in Hamilton’s class at school!”

A little nervous chatter between Susan, Mike, and the couple in the booth ensues. It becomes painfully apparent [to us] this guy lives somewhere nearby, and seems to know practically everybody here – like it or not…

Poof!  Our server materializes.  Dessert? We beg off dessert.  Poof!  He’s gone.

In fact, at an earlier point in the conversation, (before the interruption), he alluded to being somewhat recognizable in the neighborhood – claimed everyone at his church is praying for him – yikes!

“Yeah, it’s a little uncomfortable… Hank – he’s at my church – he said I’ve got a face for radio – hah! …but yeah, he’s great! I mean somebody said something about the divorce and now everyone at church is praying for me! I mean, it’s like 2,000 people!” Pause. “I mean, what else do those people know, you know?!”

OK, fast forward – the mother smiles, apologizes for the interruption, and shepherds her daughter toward the exit.

Mike continues. “See! See that?! See what I mean?! I’ve really got to be careful.” Pause. “I can’t even fix up my place right now. I mean if I do anything, I just know she’ll freak out. When this thing – when this divorce thing – is over, I’m gonna fix it up. I am. You know, paint… I’ll do the carpets too! Yeah, it’ll be nice. I’ll have everyone over.” Pause. “Yeah, I’ll have everyone over to see the basket…”

N.B. …and yes, if you were wondering, names have been changed to protect the guilty…

My wife and I were pondering dining options for Valentine’s Day, and we decided Virtù warranted a return visit.  True, the chocolate-themed menu and a four-block walk from the restaurant to the hotel were also rather appealing factors, but a relaxing, low-key, high-quality dining experience was the real attraction, so we went ahead and booked it.

Service has been an intermittent issue at Virtù, but this was one of those evenings when the gods smiled upon us, so no complaints on that front!

Rather it was the five cougars we had the misfortune of being within earshot of who warrant a healthy dose of derision from yours truly…

I heard the clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop of their tiny hooves, (read “six-inch stilettos”), on the flagstone before the first of them came into view…

Three were draped in what I’d describe as “Valentine’s Day” red and two in – what else – black.  Three blondes, a brunette, and one raven-haired siren, but, trust me, none of those trusses were natural.  Each was sporting what had to be $200 worth of Sephora, CARSTEN blowouts, and dresses aimed to kill, er, uh, I meant thrill.

The obligatory rose was being doled out as each claimed their seat, when one of them suddenly exclaimed, “…well, at least we’re all safe for one more week!”

Really?  Safe from what?  Aliens?  Asteroids?  …goodness, are we talking about the Russians again?

I think we were enjoying our champagne and amuse-bouche at this point, so yes, still early innings, but it wasn’t long before the entire patio was being treated to breathless accounts of who was shagging who, a handful of sharp – yet petty – jabs at gym partners, and – I kid you not – what each was wearing the first time they met…

Look, it wasn’t as if we were eavesdropping – there was a gentle breeze blowing in our direction, and those catty comments just kept ricocheting off the walls, so rather than abandoning our killer two-top, we just sat back and enjoyed the show…

Here’s but a tiny sliver of what we overheard:

Cougar #5 “…I know, right!  She was all up in the mirror fixing her hair while the rest of us were still sweating our asses off!  I mean, c’mon girl, get in, get set, get out!”

Apparently one must look their very best at the gym, and at all times while in the building.

Cougar #3 “He’s soooo right physically, but soooo sterile emotionally! …I just took the kids and bounced…”

I’ll say – bet you bounced right off to the attorney’s office and filed for a divorce!

OK, so what’s with “…but not todaaaaay! ” being tacked onto the end of some seemingly random statement, only to be followed by a peal of laughter? The pride must’ve belted that phrase out eight or nine times in the space of 90 minutes, (and it seemed to be commonly understood, but alas, I remain clueless as to its origin).

Predator.  Prey.  …or Pray, maybe?

Cougar #3 “I’m making myself available on Monday.” [pause] “…and on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, and…” [giggle] “We went on a lunch date and I found all this stuff out! I said, ‘Let’s order marg[arita]s and head to the room!’”

Christ Almighty, I was ready to stick a forks in my eyes at this point, but we were just getting started.

…the entire table goes silent while they shoveled the first course into those ruby-red-rimmed, ivory-ringed maws.  Ahem, and amen.

Cougar #1 “…so one guy in my neighborhood is sitting outside in his boxers with a bumper sticker on the window that says ‘LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE’!”

[The Table In Unison] “Oooooooh!”

Cougar #3 “Girl, get the HELL out of that lease!”

At least one member of the pride is clearly – and I do mean clearly – divorced.

Cougar #2 “Do you watch ‘Real Housewives‘?”

Yeah, apparently, I’m watching it right here on the damn patio at Virtù!

“Well, there’s French service, Russian service, German service…”

Huh?  Glancing over, I saw this was apparently a teachable moment being offered by the server assigned to the pride’s table…

Cougar #2 “…and what’s your name?” [to the server]

“I never give it out.”

Cougar #4 “You’re married, aren’t you?” [to the server]

This guy has to be 45 years old, (if he’s a day), sporting a widow’s peak, a slight paunch, and has ’em all eating out of his hand – priceless!  Catnip, pure effin’ catnip!

Cougar #3 “OK, so I’m out in the courtyard and I see this guy over by the pool. I mean I’m checking him out!  I can see everything – which way it drops – I mean everything!”

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, when will this end?

Cougar #3 “…and whoever he was with, well, she just had so much ‘toe showing!”

Eeewwww.  OMG, Natasha Grapefruit!  I shudder to think about that last one – yikes!

You might be asking yourself why in the world did I feel compelled to sit down and pen this tawdry tale?  Here’s why – that Oscar-worthy performance was far more appropriate for a singles bar, or maybe a hipster hangout, or even a pub, but certainly not one of the more notable fine dining establishments in Old Town on Valentine’s Day!

Tragic.  Not Virtù-ous.  No, not Virtù-ous at all…

N.B. I flirted – briefly – with the idea of titling this post ‘No Pride – Extreme Prejudice’, but decided I didn’t need the Jane Austen crowd clamoring for my head on a pike!