I walked into the restaurant for a nice quiet lunch with an interesting book. The hostess smiled and asked “Smoking or non-smoking?”

“Non-smoking,” I answered

She said, “I know you always say that, but I still ask you every time, don’t I.”

I’d only been in that restaurant twice before, and the last time was at least a month ago. Either she mistook me for someone else, or she has one hell of a memory. She walked me through the dining room to a good booth.

As I was sliding into the seat, the hostess apparently noticed my paperback book, and asked, “So what are you reading this week?”

I held the book face so she could see it: Panzer Commander [an autobiography of a WWII German Wehrmacht officer].

“Oh,” she said, “a war movie.”

I was slightly confused — a war movie?

“Ah, yeah,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether to comment on the obviously incorrect term. (I’m not good at the chit chat.)

She continued, “I like smut movies, myself.” She smiled, turned, and left me with that.

Both my eyebrows were raised as I watched her walk away. What the hell did that mean? I thought. So . . . many . . . things . . . weird.

Between the remembering me, to calling a book a movie, to mentioning smut — someone tell me what the heck happened.

Bullgrit

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