Dear lady who was patronizing the delightful Uptown bistro where Moda and I had lunch this past Friday...
So it was a drizzly pizzly Friday and we had a gift card to burn through and so we headed out with dreams of Bellini's, Bloody Mary's, and pomme frittes. And while it was a quiet Friday at said bistro, there were still a few folk out to enjoy brunch as well. Lovely.
Now, you were only 5 tables away and I really don't know what kind of day you had but it felt like it was a bad one. Why do I know this? Well, for starters (and to be clear, your conversation wasn't being eavesdropped on) you...energy...was palpable. Like, I felt every angry stab of conversation you made with your friend. And I'm not gonna judge but dang...we're nibbling our fries and loud conversational punctuations peppered your speech. And lady, there were folks trying to have a relaxing Friday brunch. Not cool.
This all culminated in the part where I did eavesdrop...not because I wanted to but it was pretty audible- Complaining about the price of your coffee. Your coffee. Your...coffee.
It's a mildly pricey French Uptown Bistro. Not "Le Folgers". My advice? Switch to the coffee in the green can.
Yours respectfully...
Baby P
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