A Birthday Dinner

It was Simon’s mother’s birthday, and he had decided to treat her to a quiet dinner at the small family restaurant she had always loved. It was a mild evening, and the street outside was alive with people strolling home. The waiter greeted them at the door with a courteous “Good evening”. “I’d like a table for two, please,” Simon said.

They were shown to a table beside the window. “What would you like to drink?” the waiter asked. Simon’s mother said she would like some water, whereas Simon, in a festive mood, asked for an orange juice.

Having studied the menu at length, since neither of them was in a hurry, they placed their orders. “I’d like the fish,” Mum said at last. “I would like the chicken soup,” said Simon. The waiter jotted it all down in a small notebook and vanished into the kitchen.

A few minutes later he reappeared with an enormous plate of rice, which he set down in front of Simon. “Excuse me,” Simon said, as tactfully as he could. “I’d like the soup, not the rice.” “I’m terribly sorry!” the waiter cried, blushing, and whisked the plate away.

The soup arrived soon afterwards, followed by a small cake with a single candle, to the delight of the neighbouring tables. “Happy birthday!” the waiter announced. Mum smiled. “Would you like a piece?” she asked her son. “Yes, I’d like a big one!” Simon realised that he could not have chosen a better evening.