After we congratulate our server on her makeup (sparkly rouge climbing prominent cheekbones), and Katie makes her laugh with a "Namaste!" in thanks for her delivery of a basket piled high with onion rings and french fries, it's clear we've established a friendly rapport. We banter and enjoy the talk as the meal progresses.
Though they seem bengin enough, and certainly aren't throwing any shade over the new, short-term friend we've made of our server, the two ladies sitting at the next table seem to be sort of watching us. I find myself wondering if they think we're just pretending to be as happy as we act, as I ask our server, "Is that a butterfly tattoo on your wrist?"