Dining in the dark

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak…

Ok, that’s a curtain.
That’s your leg,
That’s the back of my chair;
I’m on it.

I can take my hand off that guy’s shoulder now, right?

My chest is constricting but it’s fine because I’ve got my;
wine glass-here

And breathe.

The waiter’s back, and miraculously he’s given all the right drinks to the right people.

The music seems to fade out as I hone in on the voices.
You’re there,
she’s there,
he’s there
Got it.

I’m pretty sure I’m pulling some really bizarre facial expressions right now!
Eyebrows up,
chin forward,
ears straining.

Can’t see a thing.

“Madam, you are having the green menu, yes?”

Starter: aubergine salad

Main: mushroom gnocchi

Dessert: chocolate mousse

All delicious.

Every so often someone complains about being touched on the;

It was you!

“I can’t find my wine…”

“Would you like some of my… er… meat?”

“Sorry, I’ve just put the handle of your fork in my mouth”

“What the fuck was that?!”

Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s first world problem:

my dining companions and I have such unrefined palettes that we cannot tell the difference between;

Lamb and Zebra
Beef, Venison and Kangaroo
Pork and Turkey
Viognier and Chenin Blanc

and best of all…

a sesame seed bun and a sea urchin.

This poem was inspired by a visit to Dans le Noir