Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Lorraine and Behold (Or, Hung Dinerette)
A number of years ago, I was at one of my favorite neighborhood spots, the Moonstruck Diner, nursing a killer hangover on a Sunday morning.
Moonstruck, while absolutely nothing to look at - unless you're into the various aqua and peach interior decorating motifs of 1985 - really gives it up in terms of quality, greasy diner fare. The Greeks running the joint turn the shit out.
Anyway, this particular Sunday morning, I was sitting in the back of the restaurant at a table with my friends Torrey and Anne. As we waited for our plates of onion rings, fries, burgers, Greek omelets, et. al. to arrive, I zoned out for a minute due to severe dehydration. In my blank, listless staring, my eyes settled on a very attractive, older brunette woman at a neighboring booth. I thought she looked familiar, so I let my gaze rest on her.
Before said minute was up, the woman, catching my stare, glared at me in disgust - like I'd farted or belched or pulled down my pants or tried to make off with her handbag. She made a sullen face and turned away from me.
Torrey - seeing the whole exchange - punched me in the arm and said through clenched teeth:
"What the fuck's wrong with you? Stop staring at Lorraine Bracco."
And, yes, Lorraine Bracco it was.