After a round or two of drinks, as I was setting out the dinner, I
observed that one of the ladies was staring dejectedly at the
dishes.
“Is everything OK? I asked her.
“I have to only eat the salads tonight,” she replied with a tired
smile. She had a faraway look in her eyes.
“Salads?” I asked.
“Salads,” she replied firmly.
“Salads”, I hummed under my breath and realised that the
dialogue was getting a little tiresome for the others.
“Don’t you like seafood?” I asked the lady. I knew that she ate
seafood because I had seen her gobbling down a few platefuls at
another social occasion.
“I did in the past but I have given up since,” she replied. “I don’t
want to be reborn as a prawn.”
I clutched at the table lest I fell
down. I knew that I had two glasses
of some excellent whiskey and I
presumed that it must be numbing
my senses and affecting my hearing.
“Reborn as a prawn?” I asked her. I
wanted to make sure that my ears
were in perfect order.
“Yes,” she said in a stentorian voice.
The lady on her left started coughing apologetically and the
gentleman on her