“I think we’re doing the ordering tonight,” the waiter smiled. Not at me. At the dress.
That night, we ate like gods. The dress ordered the duck fat potatoes. The dress demanded the chocolate soufflé at 10:47 PM, long after dessert was “closed.” The dress paid—well, I paid, but the dress took the credit, waving a black card like a tiny surrender flag. -I frivolous dress order the meal-
“I frivolous dress order the meal—” is not a broken sentence. It is a confession. “I think we’re doing the ordering tonight,” the