The Farmer Goes to A Fine Restaurant

Last night, the Husband and I had dinner reservations at our favorite restaurant.

In the late afternoon, I had finished up all the animal chores, except I hadn't tucked in the chickens for the night. So when we left for the restaurant, the Husband kindly offered to lock up the chickens.

It was dark, and he slipped on the muddy slope down to the chicken shack. Luckily he didn't fall down.

After being seated at the restaurant, the Husband quietly reported that he could see that he had tracked in a lot of mud. We sat there discussing if we should do something when the waiter arrived table side, squatted down, and wordlessly swept up the mud into a dustpan.

The Husband commented on how embarrassing it was to have a waiter sweep up around him BEFORE he started eating.

I responded that it was even more embarrassing to be caught tracking chicken poop into an expensive restaurant.

Just another episode in our tres elegant French life.