The Ending of the Story: Date Night with Forgetful Gary

So there I am at the restaurant door in my favorite red dress and Gary has completely blanked on the reservation. The hostess is giving us that polite pity smile. I'm already picturing the church ladies hearing how my big romantic night started with a side of humiliation.

Then Brad the waiter swoops in like a satin-jacketed superhero. He remembers my name, my usual booth by the window, and exactly how I like my martini. Gary is patting down his pockets like the reservation number might fall out of his sock. Brad snaps his fingers, and suddenly we have the best table in the house.

We order the usual. Gary leans across the candlelight, takes my hand, and says he has a confession. My heart does a little flip. He gets all serious and whispers that he left his wallet on the nightstand.

I laugh so hard the church ladies at table seven nearly drop their forks. Gary isn't finished though. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the little velvet box with the earrings I pointed out last month. The man actually remembered those.

Later he stands up, gives me that crooked grin I fell for thirty years ago, and plants one right on me like we're the only two people in the room. The whole place went quiet. Even Brad stopped mid-pour.

Gary sits back down, smooth as can be, and says he only forgets the small stuff. Honey, that man still knows exactly how to make my night.

What did you think I meant? Shame on you.

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