Before we went out on New Year's Eve, we went to a nice restaurant for a prix fixe three course menu. Although I've been to many a fancy dinner, I never feel at ease. With my klutziness, I know that disaster lurks at every turn.
So we sit down for dinner, and it's just as New York chi chi as I envisioned. I had my slightly trashy dress on with Snookie-style hair poof and I tried to talk myself down as I perused the menu. "Ok, Adele, you're doing fine, just don't screw this up now," I thought.
It was decided that we would have cocktails, and I just glanced at the menu. "I would like the Stigmata," I told the waiter.
"The cocktail is called the Stigma," he said.
Oh no, I just ordered up the crucifixion wounds of Jesus Christ.Now you've done it!The more I thought about this, I could not compose myself. Debie and I kept laughing, probably making a scene.
When the waiter came back with my drink, he set it down and said - with a completely deadpan expression - "Here's your cocktail. Hammer and nails are in the back room."
