Give the dog a bone

Two reasons why my boyfriend (let’s call him “Brian” to protect the innocent) is the best companion for dinner at Houston’s:

1) He is more ghetto fabulous than he appears.
2) He is a creative storyteller.

Brian has tradition of going to Houston’s for a steak after he finishes a new script. Lucky for me, yesterday he finished a new script and he loves fine conversation, so I was invited to go along. Last night we met at the restaurant and he was in a t-shirt and jeans. I had come from work in a skirt and sweater and he felt a bit underdressed. Since we had twenty minutes to wait for a table, we went next door to the Banana Republic. He bought a blazer, a $300 blazer, to wear to dinner. It looked great and he wore it all through the meal. And he returned it this morning. Ghe-tto. Fab-u-lous.

At the end of dinner Brian still had some of his prime rib left on the bone. He wanted to take it home but to ask for a box was not sufficient.

Brian: “Okay, if the waitress asks, we have a German Shepherd. His name is Hans.”
Stacey: “What about Dieter? Dieter is a good German name.”
Brian: “Okay, we have two dogs, Hans and Dieter."

A few minutes later…
Katie (our waitress): “Would you like anything else?”
Brian: “If we could get a box for this to take it home to our dogs, that’d be great.”
Katie: “Of course. What kind of dogs do you have?”
Brian: “German Shepherds.”
Katie: “Oh, I love dogs.” (Looking at Stacey) “Are they cute?”
Stacey: “Yes, very cute, puppies.”
Katie: “I wish I could have a dog, but we’re not allowed to in my building. I’ll bring you box.”

After Katie’s gone…
Brian: “I wanted her to ask the names of our dogs.”
Stacey: “Yeah, me too.”

Why ask for a box when you can have a conversation? It’s about connecting with people.