A man probably in his early sixties came into the restaurant where I was having dinner with a friend. He was carrying a large bouquet. With a hopeful, eager look, he sat at his table, staring at the door. Nobody came. After 30 minutes of this, the whole restaurant was feeling deep compassion for the man. The smile faded from his face. He started looking around with a lost, sad look. The 20-year-old waiter was showing male solidarity, saying, “She’s probably running late, my man. You know women.” Conversations at other tables withered. Everybody was silently cheering for the older dude.
Finally, he took out his phone, glanced at it, and lit up. “She came!” he exclaimed. “It’s the wrong restaurant! She’s in the one next door!”
He grabbed his bouquet and sprinted to the door. Everybody in the restaurant cheered.
On my way to the car, I passed the other restaurant and saw the man sitting opposite a very pretty lady in her sixties. The bouquet was lying between them.
Clarissa's Blog 
Thank you! I can imagine this being me……
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The best thing was to see how supportive everybody was of the man. Everybody really wanted him to have a good evening.
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Nice fairy tale. Who wrote it?
Dreidel
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It really happened. My tragedy is that I can’t invent anything, which is the only thing that prevents me from writing fiction. I can’t come up with plots. But I can observe and describe.
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I so envy people who can do fiction. That whole imagining-other-people’s-inner-states-and-predicting-their-reactions thing… it’s like some kind of sorcery. That whole theory-of-mind thing works great for people who are either basically normal and think like most people (so can extrapolate most others’ thought processes from their own) OR very insightful. I’m neither. Other people’s internal processes are a strange mystery.
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I love this!
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