Sir! While I understand that the Blossoming Lotus sometimes attracts a particularly bothersome Dansko-clad version of aging Baby Boomer, I am AGHAST at your particularly heinous table manners. You, sir, sat 18 inches away from me in the main dining room last night, blowing your nose INTO THE RESTAURANT'S LINENS every 30 seconds, over the course of 45 minutes. Your date (who I hope for her sake is NOT your wife and has reasonable means of escape) sat sullenly across from you in her plum cowl-neck sweater, staring intently/silently out the window each time you let out a tyrannous honk. I imagine that you are so unaware of your heinously stultifying personal habits that you fully expected her to follow you home for some old-person tantric sex after your mint-chocolate soy cream was finished. You, sir, are a pig, and you RUINED MY VEGAN BISQUE.
You Ruined my Vegan Bisque!
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