June 2, 2017
June 1, 2017
June 1, 2017
Waiter, There’s a Louse in My Soup!
Smokey eyes, red lips, a long black evening gown, beach waves and stilettos—the perfect look for the perfect dinner with your fiancé and his family.
You’ve been planning this dinner for at least 2 months. You want everything to be perfect—your makeup, your hair and your dress. This is the first time you’ll be meeting his parents. You’ve been excited since he popped the question 2 months ago and you can’t wait to spend time with his family.
You’re a little nervous, growing up as a country girl but you remind yourself that you’ve got this. You just need to make a good first impression and make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.
He comes to pick you up in his big, black sports car, looking as handsome as ever. You sigh looking at his beautiful, golden wavy hair, blue ocean eyes and killer smile. He’s wearing a tuxedo that looks like it was made only for him, with a bouquet of colorful roses—just for you.
He hands you the bouquet, smiles at you and opens the door of his car. “What a gentleman,” you think. You can’t wait to marry him.
You prepare yourself as you arrive at the restaurant, trying to act your best and not embarrass yourself. You’re not used to high heels so you try not to stumble. You arrive at the table where his parents are seated and exchange greetings. His mother is as his friends described—stern but polite, dressed to impress with designer clothes—the complete package. His father is neatly dressed in a suit, and courteous.
You sit down, chat for a little as you order from the menu. You start by ordering cream of mushroom soup—your favorite.
Everything is going well and you’re pleased with how things are going. The waiter brings the soup and starters. Everybody is getting ready to eat when you feel a tingling sensation on your forehead. You lightly scratch yourself, thinking nothing of it.
That is…until you see his parents stare at you with eyes wide open. You stop dead in your tracks and look at your fiancé. He’s staring at you as if he’s been shot.
You ask them what is wrong but get no response. You avert your eyes, trying to avoid their penetrating gaze. You have no idea why they’re staring at you until, that is, you look down at your soup.
Right there. In the middle of the bowl. There’s a creepy, black critter struggling to get free. You take a double look, not believing your eyes. There’s a louse in your soup.
You lightly touch your forehead, get up frantically and try to run out of the restaurant, only to stumble and fall because of your heels. You fall on top of a senior couple’s table, crashing everything and ruining their meal.
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