Nothing Says “Christmas” Like Leather Pants

At least, that’s what Jeanne thought when she was planning her Noel dinner outfit. She gamboled into NYC yesterday in a fantastic get-up, featuring the aforementioned black leather trousers paired with a fluffy black sweater and, in a nod to practicality, black patent oxfords. In short, she fit right in with the other Manhattan matrons at the bistro where we had assembled some of our nearest and dearest for a French-infused meal (Bob skipped this celebration when he heard there were stairs involved. Can’t blame him. I believe his exact quote was “Nhsttfibeuus? Ksosoishhewta.”).

After a menu perusal, Jeanne decided on salmon. “How would you like eet? Meeedium rah?” asked the waiter.

“I want it not dry,” she instructed. The waiter twitched his moustache imperceptibly. “Not dry!” she repeated as he backed away.

Once her dinner arrived, Jeanne proceeded to polish off everything on her plate. Then she munched a couple of Himself’s french fries, and then a lot of my french fries. “Oy, I am so full!” she announced, dunking her bread into a pool of olive oil.

My bro and sis-in-law were nice enough to give her a ride back and forth so she could swig down a few glasses of sauvignon blanc with abandon. All in all, she had a wonderful time. And I was glad. She deserves it.


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