Another restaurant tale.

At dinner tonight, in a place that wasn't Italian but had lots of Italian entrees, my dear Italian husband ordered Eggplant Parm, which he enjoyed when we were there last. However, because he is half caveman, and MEAT is a part of every meal and most snacks, he ordered a side of meatballs and a side of sausage. Commonplace in Philadelphia, where we've done most of our dining, even common in the few real Italian places in Lancaster County. So, down the shore, as we call it, we assumed he'd get meatballs and sausage in gravy. For those out of the Gumbah loop, gravy is tomato sauce or red sauce.
Out comes the eggplant parm, drooling with melted mozzarella, looking like a million dollars. Out come two little meatballs, sitting in a little pool of gravy. And out comes four BREAKFAST SAUSAGES, dry, sitting on a plate. I looked at him, he looked at me, we both looked at the server. She told us she'd check on us in a bit and left us alone. Alone in the silence and horror of BREAKFAST SAUSAGES dry on a plate. She might as well have brought a turd to the table! We looked at each other, my big eyes bulging, his little "Chinky" eyes slits of disgust and disbelief. You could hear the crickets chirping. More silence. The server returned to see how we were doing. Please Dear God I moaned in my head, don't let him say anything! And the saints were with me because he said we were fine. Fine! as the bastardized sausages sat there in disgrace.