Lonely Dinnermint Frog
What would you expect?
This poor little gal has waited patiently all evening — AGAIN — on the two-top nearest the hostess station. Immobile, with quiet expectation, she has seen the patrons arrive, and she has seen the patrons leave.
Couples out for an anniversary or a birthday, rekindling romances past or banking the fires of a flagrantly flaming passion. Families small and large, children young or grown, or with children of their own, spending an hour or three, dining and laughing together. Friends meeting over wine and desserts. Business meetings conducted over entrées and cocktails and maybe cigars.
But has anyone reached for even ONE dinnermint? No! What’s the problem?
Are they afraid they might be a little stale, lying dead on the tongue like some pellet of chalk? Do they think it gauche to grab a handful? Don’t they care for the flavors? The soft white pillows containing mint jelly? The candy-coated fennel seed? The pastel berry cream over malted milk? The spearmint starlights? The chocolate covered espresso beads? The delicate layered sandwiches of dark chocolate and smooth mint cream? The pink lozenges of wintergreen? Don’t they realize this lonely little creature has a purpose in life?
Can’t anyone help this anxious amphibian?
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