Holy Guacamole

There we sat. Three generations of strong, smart women — sharing bowls of queso, chips and delicious guacamole. My daughter and I on one side of the booth, my Mom on the other.

We barely had an hour for lunch, but we were making the most of it.  Angela, our oh-so-cute waitress took our orders and poured iced teas. It was a noisy Monday lunch crowd, but we managed to converse, laugh and enjoy each other’s company.

Until, when we were about half way finished with our meal, three 30ish men were seated in the booth behind us.

Their crass conversation halted my ability to hear anything but them. It centered on the Tinder App, and on-line dating in general. On conquests. On drinking. On swiping right, and on the preferred size of women’s breasts. They bragged and they shared, and it went on, and on, and on.

At one point, my daughter leaned in and whispered, “I can’t help but…“ “Eavesdrop?” I finished her sentence. We both laughed, rolled our eyes and did our best to maintain.

“I hope Grandma can’t hear,” she said.

“Me too.”

Soon, it was time to go. I asked Angela to bring me the check.

I was buying this lunch…

…until Angela returned moments later and announced, “Your check has magically been taken care of!” Her smile was bright, and it was clear she enjoyed delivering such news. And then she was gone.

The three of us shared a brief moment of confusion, exchanged questioning looks, and then burst into smiles. It was a first for all of us.  Holy Guacamole!  Someone had just paid for our lunch. I glanced around the crowded restaurant, searching for a familiar face, or one holding a secret.  But the generous benefactor remained anonymous.

“I guess we’ll all be paying this forward,” my precious child said as we stood to leave.

Yes indeed.

Merry Christmas!

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