The week the table finally clicked

We had eight on board and a lunch that wanted to last. The chef was in the galley heat. I had a stew who was still counting the cutlery with her lips.

Somewhere between the second wine and the fruit, I stopped performing the table and started conducting it. The difference is small from the dock. It is everything from the chair.

That night I wrote in the book: pace from the host, not from the clock. I still write it for every girl who rushes a table because she is afraid of being idle.