“Excuse me,” the man said, grabbing a waitress by the wrist. “Do you know where our server is? We’ve been here ten minutes and we’re ready to order.”
“I’m not sure,” she said, “but I can go ahead and take care of that for you if you like.”
“Don’t you dare!” came a voice behind her. A young man in rumpled black clothes came barreling from the kitchen, two plates of food in his hands. “I’ve known your order since the moment you arrived. Here’s your fettuccine al Fredo, and here’s your mixed green salad with chicken, dressing on the side.
“Egad!” the man ejaculated. “That’s exactly right. How did you know?”
“Simplicity itself. Although your suit is tailor-made, it’s too tight for you and not your color. Either you got it second-hand, or you’ve filled out a bit since the acquisition. Probably both. Since you’re obviously someone who wants to be more sophisticated than you are, I assumed you would want our closest equivalent to macaroni and cheese. As to your wife—“
Before he was finished, the couple stormed out in a huff, but the young man didn’t care. No one with those shoes ever tips.