Overheard in the city

Today, the kids and I went to lunch together. We had pizza. It was fun. It was also highly entertaining, but that had very little to do with the kids or the pizza.

Apparently, our waiter is a really nice guy. This is according to the two dance students sitting behind me. Why? you ask. Perhaps because he wasn't noticeably offended when the girls (I just can't call them women) kept loudly assuming he was not an American citizen, despite the fact that he had already told them three times he was born in California? Actually, no. Apparently, he's a really nice guy because on Valentine's Day, he is marrying an acquaintance of theirs. Romantic, right? One would think, but in fact, they are getting married at city hall because she wants citizenship. So badly, apparently, that she had been considering paying $7,000 to some old guy she had found through an agency that arranges these sorts of things. He isn't going to charge her a cent! Isn't that great? But then again, she is "well endowed" if the girls' opinion can be trusted, so maybe he thinks he'll get something out of it after all.

Thankfully, my Canadian-born husband was already an American citizen when we met + married, so I don't have to worry about whether I was the unwitting victim of a similar path to a green card.

I'm not going to judge nameless waiter, though. Not because I'm all new-age tolerant and accepting. No, I'm going to give him a bye because he actually is a nice guy. He let me sit in a booth with only two people, block up the adjacent table with my enormous stroller, and pay with a credit card even though we didn't order enough to satisfy the minimum charge; bonus points: He did it all with a smile. For those reasons, I will also refrain from telling you (and immigration) where I was eating earlier today, the name of the blushing bride, or her nationality. Good luck nameless waiter + hopeful immigrant. May your marraige of convenience be all either of you could hope for.