Last night, I met up with Kailani at Borders, one of our favorite haunts. Borders has books, coffee, music, books, cool journals, games, books, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Jelly Beans, books...it only lacks an international cheese aisle and 200 square feet devoted to stilettos to make it the Most Perfect Place Ever.
But I digress.
We browsed, bought books (My TBR pile is ridiculous at the moment and since I'm about to get a duffle bag full of free books in San Fran-Oh happy thought!-I won't get through this pile until October.), and then headed over to Friday's for dinner.
It was fairly busy at Friday's, just a few open tables, and the noise level was comfortably loud (we work in a restaurant, we're used to it). We enjoyed our dinner and were lingering at the table, talking above the volume throughout the room, when it happened.
A table three rows over and two rows up was filled with what appeared to be college-aged boys.
That wasn't particularly amusing.
The table burst into laughter loud enough to gain the attention of most of the dining room.
That wasn't tremendously funny either.
In the middle of their laughter, one of the boys emmitted a sustained stream of virulent flatulence, pushed along by his copious laughter, that was loud enough be heard clearly throughout the entire restaurant.
That was freakin' hilarious.
The dining room sat in stunned silence for the 1.7 seconds it took to process that No, that wasn't a whoopee cushion and Yes, a fart scoring a 6.8 on the Richter scale just scorched through the restaurant and then the whole place went up in laughter.
Not polite little chuckles where you try to spare anyone's feelings.
Gut-busting, tears rolling down your face laughter.
Fortunately, the college-aged boys didn't mind. I don't even think they noticed. They were too busy laughing themselves.