Janet Goes To Dinner

“I’ll have a squid and seconal salad please,” Janet told the waiter.
“I’m sorry maam, we no longer serve barbiturates and we are out of squid, but there is a smoking area in the alley.”
A slight pout rolled down Janet’s face as she picked up the menu. “That doesn’t fit well with my plans,” she said.
The waiter, whose friends called him Butter but whose real name was Roman, stood mute, awaiting Janet’s second selection.
“Hmm,” mused Janet, “you don’t seem to have any other cephalopods, and I’ve heard bad things about the penguin-on-stick.”
Roman-Butter bristled inwardly at the penguin put-down, but he smiled politely and waited, which, after all, was his job.
“Does the beaver spleen come with seasonal berries?” Janet inquired.
“No maam, it is served with Swiss peaches soaked in a raisin liqueur. They are topped with a mild, soft cheese made from Shetland pony milk and churned by virgin stenographers working evenings at the dairy.”
Janet’s pout sagged further as she said, “Oh dear, I am horse-fluid intolerant. That just won’t do.”
Roman-Butter waited some more.
“I know,” Janet beamed, “I’ll have the salmon pancreas and lentils on a bed of odorless rice with a side of sautéed owl tongue.”
“Very good maam,” said Roman-Butter, relieved to exit Janet’s presence.
Before he could extract himself, Janet said, “I’d like a glass of wine with that. What do you recommend?”
“We have an excellent Argentine chardonnay, a 2001 vintage. The grapes came from a small vineyard halfway up Mt. Chacon. The harvest only takes place once a year at twilight when the temperature hovers around 53 degrees Fahrenheit and a fine mist is in the air. They are then transported to the pressing room by indigenous curanderos where stout village women lovingly squeeze every bit of fluid from the skins. The juice is then stored in barrels of French Oak for no less than two years before pouring. The skins are donated to the United Nations for it’s ongoing research into fruit-skin benefits in the cure for leprosy.”
“On second thought,” said Janet, “I think I’ll have a Coke.”
At this point, Roman-Butter picked up a sterling-silver fork off the linen draped table and shoved it into Janet’s ear.