I Have A (Small) Bone To Pick With You

| Working | February 1, 2016

(There is a big family gathering involving about a dozen various relatives and in-laws. It should be noted that pretty much everyone in the group has a serious aversion to “making a fuss”, so they tend to let things slide even when they shouldn’t.)

Brother’s Wife: *biting down on something strange* “Ow! What the…” *pulls the object out of her mouth* “A chicken bone? What’s a chicken bone doing in my food?”

Nephew: “Maybe they missed it when they were cooking?”

Brother’s Wife: “I ordered a veggie omelet.”

My Mom: “…Those are some pretty old eggs, then!”

(Everyone laughs about it, but when the waitress comes by to check on us, we all nudge Brother’s Wife into saying something.)

Brother’s Wife: *smiling and kind of shy* “There was a chicken bone in my veggie omelet. I’m a little afraid to eat it now. Could I order something else, please?”

Waitress: *staring at the bone* “A… chicken bone? How in the…?”

Me: *laughing* “That’s kinda what we said.”

Waitress: *suddenly scared* “I’ll get my manager right away. I am so sorry about that! Is there anything else I could get you?”

(Brother’s Wife orders a chili. We’re all friendly and laughing still. A few minutes later, the manager comes over, apologizing profusely, taking the meal off our bill, and acting almost afraid of us. That last part has the whole family very confused, It takes a few minutes before I realize why.)

Me: “I think she’s afraid we’re going to throw a major fit about it.”

My Mom: “She doesn’t know that for us, that WAS a major fit!”

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