You know what? I know Im easily annoyed, and I dont care.
Im generally tired, Im generally anxious, and I have this crazy idea that I want everything to be perfect – is that too much to ask?
So no, sonny, I dont have that much problem with the fact that I brought my darling little mother to your quite expensive establishment and you managed to bring the wrong starter – that was ok.
I dont mind that on giving the bill and being presented with two credit cards with which to pay it you had to run away for ten minutes to find a manager and/or a calculator to work out £71.50 divided by two. That was fine too.
I do mind for some reason that you, perfectly pleasant young waiter man, spent the whole evening calling us guys.
Not guys. Apart from one of us who technically is a guy with the whole penis thing and stuff. We are, in full; 29-year-old woman, her beloved, and her little mother that she really would like to impress by taking to nice restaurant.
Not, generally then, guys.
So what can I getcha, Guys?! One bottle of organic English wine is it? Great choice, Guys!
Now, whos tasting this wine, Guys?!
And I dont know why, but your over-matey, tosspot comfyism made me want to strangle you. So stop it.