The following excerpt is from Elaine Flinn’s Oct. 28th column, "On The Bubble", at Murderati. This is one of the many reasons why she is one of my favorite writers…and favorite ladies!

"Anyone remember when we used to ‘dress up’ when we went out to dinner?  And that many restaurants wouldn’t let a guy in without a tie or at least a jacket?  My husband and I had dinner at Morton’s in Portland a couple of months ago, and the two couples next to us were dressed like they were going to a mud wrestling contest.  The men had on torn jeans, dirty sweatshirts-and baseball caps they hadn’t the good manners to remove.  The women were in very low hip-huggers, cropped tops with bursting boobs- and one of them was very pregnant.  They were loud, profane and obnoxious to the waiter.  It was an evening of ‘in your face’ - and it ticked me off no end.  Thank God my husband - a six foot-four ex-Marine - had the sense to tell me to calm down when I wanted to complain.  He told me that at seventy-two (with bad hips and knees from playing semi-pro ball years ago), he thought he could take one of them, but not both, and suggested I zip it up.  It’s not that I’m a stranger to four-letter words.  Those that know me well, will attest to that.  In fact, I know some very interesting combinations I save for special occasions.  But Morton’s ain’t MacDonalds’, okay?  Or, Jimmy Bob’s Barbecue.  So it wasn’t thrilling to spend two hundred bucks for dinner and sit next to low-lifes whose only intention (it appeared) was to act as raunchy as possible and get away with it. "

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