Jamie and I went to dinner at PJ Clarke's tonight and followed it up with a light dessert at Johnny Rockets across the street. Instead of sending a lightning bolt to indicate I should not eat any tasty treats, God let me figure it out myself. As Jamie and I took our seats, my foot caught on the bottom of the free-standing table and all the glassware went hurtling through the air, shattering all over the floor and the legs of the lone man sitting next to us. That's right, a full bottle of ketchup and a huge glass container of straws sort of dove off the table into oblivion... it all happened so fast - it couldn't be stopped! Evil middle schoolers laughed mockingly at my clumsiness, and we just laughed right back.
Did it stop us from consuming dessert? Nay. Nothing ever does.
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