I meet my best friend for coffee every morning. And we usually have just that – coffee.
This morning though we both woke up ravenous.
And so we ordered steak. Huge juicy fillet steaks, rare, with extra fries and bacon, avo, tomato, mushrooms and everything we could possibly think of.
And there we were at 7 am, like two carnivores, tearing into our meat, lipstick smeared on our cheeks and blood dripping down our chins.
And we laughed and wiped our mouths and licked our plates and reapplied our lipstick. And then we saw the chocolate cake and got stuck into that too.
And because we were feeling indulgent and a bit trippy, we ordered champagne.
By 9 am we were full and sated and satisfied and laughing and a little bit tipsy and ready to go back to bed. We called for the bill.
And our bill had already been settled.
Ooooh. How fab, we thought, and asked our waiter who had paid.
‘That guy who wears the dreadful yellow t-shirt,’ Mandala told us.
Hah. Wow. Indeed.
I have his number so I sent a message to say ‘Hey. Great surprise, thank you so much.’
And he replied saying he’d got the fright of his life. He thought he was paying for two cups of coffee, not a full on three-course dinner for breakfast including French champagne.
But he smiled and we smiled and we can see how lovely and generous and kind this man really is.
But it’s become a problem.
A big one.
Because, dammit, now we both like him…