Lingua Franca for Two

My date turned to the waiter and, after fanning her long eyelashes at him (nearly knocking the vase of nasturtiums off the table), quietly but firmly stated, "I'll have the Lingua Franca, please."

The waiter looked at her, and then he looked at me. I shrugged. In the span of about two seconds, a bead of sweat emerged from what must have been an overactive pore on his forehead, rolled down between his eyes, and stopped at the tip of his nose. If he had shaken his head as a horse might, the drop of perspiration would have lost its proboscis tendencies, flying and landing who knows where, perhaps in my (sweet) iced tea or in my date's soup du jour (which, by the way, looked like chicken noodle soup to me, but she insisted that it was soup du jour, though she did admit that it seemed different than the soup du jour she had the previous week. Perhaps they changed chefs, she reasoned).

I cringed when I noticed a second bead of sweat emerge from the same location and it was following its predecessor, its destiny fairly certain by this point.

"You really should have the same," my date insisted, her eyelashes whisking back toward me and creating such a breeze that I was certain my hair had just acquired a wind blown look.

Knowing I needed to act quickly, I stood up -- I have always been good at thinking on my feet -- and whispered something into the waiter's ear. He breathed a sigh of relief, something akin to how you might sigh if you were on a game show and your competitor had just chosen Door Number Two, which happened to have a lion behind it, and you were so relieved because you knew that the other door couldn't possibly also have had a lion behind it as well. Anyway, the third bead of sweat that I noticed had been forming in that amazing pore somehow was able to retract and reverse its destination, at least for the time being.

"I'll have the same, indeed," I then proclaimed, smiling. My date once again flashed her lashes. Though she was sitting on the other side of the table, I estimated that if I leaned over just a bit the next time she did that, I might be able to get my teeth flossed at the same time.

"As you wish," said the waiter, and he scurried away before she had a chance to say anything further to him.

I began counting to myself. One ... two ...

"Daddy's buying a new car," she interjected, breaking the silence at approximately the two and three-quarter mark. "It's a Literati."

"Pardon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.

"It's a Literati. A blue one."

"Ah, I see," I nodded. "Those are nice cars."

"He was thinking about an Ad Infinitum. He had a hard time deciding."

"Life is filled with tough decisions," I lamented.

"Oh I know!" she agreed. "But like they say, 'Ipso facto.' At least that's what Daddy always says. It's a beautiful language, isn't it? I've always loved Greek."

"Greek?"

"Oh yes. You know, all those famous Greek writers and philanderers, the greats. Surely you've read the works of Homer Price, or my favorites, Icicles and Barnacles."

"Oh yes, yes, quite. I believe it was Icicles who said, 'O lente, lente, currite noctis equi.'"

"That's so beautiful. I had forgotten that passage. Do you ... do you remember what it means?" she asked, flashing her eyelashes again and blowing out the candle at the next table over.

"Of course I remember," I declared. "It means that the curator is declaring lentil nachos to be equal."

"Lentil nachos?"

"It's a health food thing," I explained. I picked up my tea and began sipping.

"Ah, oh, I see. Oh, another thing -- Mother is having the floors redone in our summer home! I'm so excited. Just imagine, wall to wall Carpe Diem."

It was unfortunate timing on my part. I should have known better than to try to drink anything while she was talking. I apologized profusely for the tea spurting out my nose and onto her dress.

She took it bravely. Actually, I think more of the tea landed on her lashes than on her dress. She blinked a couple of times, splattering me with droplets.

"So, uh, you mentioned earlier that you went to the dentist today. How did it go?" I asked, trying to provide distraction and change the subject.

"Oh it was awful. He found two Caveat Emptors."

"He didn't!" I exclaimed. "That evil man."

"Exactly. I'm going to a different dentist next time."

At that moment, our Linguine Alfredo arrived.

"Your Lingua Franca, madame," the waiter announced, giving me the slightest of winks. His face was turning red and I could tell that he was nearly ready to explode.

"And yours as well, sir," he whispered as he laid the dish in front of me. "Now, will that be all?"

"Oh, how about a bottle of Veni Vidi Vici?" my date suggested.

That was too much for the waiter. He doubled over in laughter, which, given his proximity to our table, meant that his forehead (with the overactive pore) landed in my date's linguine, splattering her dress with the sauce.

I, too, was laughing so hard I couldn't speak.

Disgusted or disgruntled, I'm not sure which, she stood up and said, "Well this is it. Daddy was right. He said dating an engineer and writer just wouldn't work. I'll be going. Ave Maria!" she said as she stormed out the restaurant door.