Me, waiting to order my first coffee, am joined in my waiting by an English speaking man who clearly thinks himself quite the intellectual - the similarity only now strikes me.
He tries to slip in his word before me, but I am not to be daunted. I calmly yet assuredly order my beverage of choice.
The waiter nods, acknowledging my request, and turns to the other, still clearly out-of-sorts by my audacity mere seconds earlier.
Do you have a bottle of white wine. He asks. He is assured that they do.
As the waiter turns around to procure my coffee and the oddly ordered bottle of white, a second enquiry erupts from the - most assuredly not Anglo-Saxon - luscious lips of the aging gentleman besides me.
What kind of white. He asks.
The house white is a Chardonnay.
Disappointment.
We also have a more expensive white, though also a Chardonnay.
But I assure you that the house wine is really quite good.
The most expensive one.
Exit man to join a younger - though not by much - blonde woman in a - slightly too short - red dress.
--- Some time passes in which I realise the presence of 3 Swedish girls & engage one of them in a short conversation ---
A second bottle of white has been ordered and opened and the two have decadently consumed it with pain et fromage. The man has - rather obviously from where I was sitting, two tables away - started caressing the viciously long, slightly fleshy and rather too tanned legs of the red-dressed woman in front of him.
She is obviously delighted by his undoubtedly witty conversation (a "sexy shrimp" seems to feature quite heavily in one of his many anecdotes)(I hope to all that is right and just in this universe that this shrimp was not a thinly veiled metaphor for something else) and his exquisite taste in wine. Expensive. White.
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